In memory of all night phone calls and other nonsense.

Remembering Kurt

Kurt Joseph Muehlmann

TRAVERSE CITY, MI-Kurt Joseph Muehlmann, age 56, died February 18, 2018. Kurt was born on June 23, 1961. He graduated from Frankfort High School and was a member of the National Honor Society. Kurt received a BS Degree from Michigan Tech. His hobbies included hunting, fishing, and trapping, and movies. Surviving are his parents: William and Nadene Muehlmann, of Midland, MI; Sharon and Tom Curl, of Flushing, MI; sisters, Lauren Edwards, of Midland, MI; Jodie Chamberlin, of Bay City, MI; Jeanette Hunt of Killeen, TX; brothers, Jeffrey Muehlmann, of Madison, Al; James Curl, of Flushing, MI; stepson, James Cowell, of Colorado. And many aunts, uncles and lots of cousins.

How do I begin to write about you? Not a day goes by without you in my thoughts.

It was 1975. I was a lowly eighth grader. One of the first things I remember about eighth grade, well, school, was the cafeteria. Tom, Bored, Brad, Kurt, Pat and I sat together. I found someone I knew. I could sit with them and not be an outsider. 

It began in band class. You sat behind the flutes, you with your french horn and curly hair. A freshman. You kept stealing Elaine's health class book. But you got my attention. I invited you to the Sadie Hawkins dance. You said ok, but later you told me your grandma was sick and you couldn't go. 

Brat! You bailed on me to play cards with Brad! So I dedicated this song to you, especially the line about even making your grandma sick.

And so it began.

We  never really "went steady." You never gave me a ring. We just happened. Why you didn't kick me to the curb I will never know. I was basically a stalker! I guess you tried to get rid of me a few times. But I didn't see it. I honestly thought I was in love.

You were concerned and interested in a girl who was just passing through Benzie that first year. She and her mom were on the run, an abusive dad who had power and recognition as a state police officer. You cared. They had to move on, suddenly. I wonder if she knew how you cared? If they are still ok?

I remember long walks and cold hands. I remember seeing you on the beach down in Beulah, watching you at track practice, joining debate and forensics because you were involved. You moved. I stayed in debate and forensics, it was fun, and I made lifelong friends.

I got your phone number, probably from the phone book and not from you giving it to me. I would call you, going upstairs with the phone. If you called me, and you sometimes did, Mom would get this gleam in her eye and say dramatically "Its HIM!" You let me talk to your little brother sometimes
 My little boyfriend! Thanks for sharing him with me over the phone like that. I am smiling, just thinking about him.

We kept crossing paths. I know we did dance together at high school dances. We didn't go together, we would just meet there. You couldn't keep me away from dances. I believe you were the first one I slow danced with. We were each other's first in other ways...

When Dad went over to Milwaukee for the open heart surgery, I was home alone and pretty terrified about everything. I called you, kept you all night on the phone. You could have hung up on me and got some sleep, but you hung in there. Even though I had to keep waking you up. I cannot thank you enough for being there, all night, on the phone.

I could not believe that you didn't know I was the one who perfumed your car that one night so long ago until I told you. Saw you holding hands with a girl. Got steamed. I was a dumb kid.

You graduated from Frankfort, 1979. (You told me this song resonated with you.) I haunted you at CBs Deli. Oh, my goodness. I really miss that place, the burritos, pizzas, the jukebox...

So, I asked you to my senior prom, for old time's sake. I set up dates for friends from Big Rapids with classmates of mine, and we picked you up. We never were formal. I got you a boutonniere but you hadn't gotten me a corsage: you told me to pick one up. Miscommunications, earlier nights than expected, but this prom was fun. We matched anyway, me in a brown Gunne Sax dress, and you in a (gasp) tan leisure suit. Our only real date. It was laid back, Relaxed. No acting required.

We wrote to each other over the years. Well, I wrote. You did occasional cards. Emails were better, but still only every once in a while. Renewed phone contact. I was concerned about being a pest, a problem, but I guess I wasn't one. I was a mess for many years, and you still talked to me. huh. We both cared for the monsters, I guess.

You saved my life a couple of times. Once on a sub-zero February night when a stupid girl took a dare. So stupid. But I treasure that night, for the beauty of the frozen moon over Crystal Lake, for the silent walk. For the care you gave, only to have you abruptly kick me out to walk back to Frankfort before your parents got home. Oh my. I understand, and at least it was warmer in the day time than the night before! I looked like death warmed over. Or frozen over. Lesson learned.

Other times when the part of me that hated me the most was trying to win. I guess we had poor self-images in common. But, you said, does God call you ugly? Stupid? Fat? uh, no......

We talked about so many things. You were happy to see Tom and me married, you loved Jessica's art. You and I had discussions that were deeper than oceans, and we had talks that were pure nonsense.
You were smart. So smart. You went to Tech, for God's sake. Honor roll. Brilliant, Mr. Blue Eyes. You worked on that amazing airport in Colorado!

 I thought you finally were happy, with someone awesome. I am so glad I got to meet Teri. I still am not sure she was glad to meet me at first. I think we are good now.

This past couple of years, the changes you went through scared you to death. Cost you dearly. I thought you had died when you disappeared that one year, but you showed up and I got to talk to you at Mike's. So glad to see you!

But you were different, and this time, you did push me away. I don't know where your demons managed to find a foothold, but they did. And at the end, they were shredding you to pieces. Your heart was clearly broken, and you blamed yourself.

Ah, Kurt, I miss you. I want to hear you say "Egad" again and laugh that laugh. I wish we could talk.I hope you are peaceful in yourself now. Say hello to the others who left us before their time. 

Still Alive!

I don't know why, but it is so easy to trip myself up and just give up on putting out effort to keep doing things I enjoy and want to pursue. Like writing these blogs.

So, after a time of feeling sorry for myself because I am feeling and looking my age (Oh woe is me), I am going to shake the crappy attitude off and get going again.

Calm, cool, and collected Tom

I have to get motivated anyway. My husband is taking trucking classes right now, and will be hitting the road soon in a big ole truck. He might be gone for weeks at a time, or he might be home nightly. I don't know. I know he will do well, and I know we need him to do this financially.

But I am so dependent on him!

This means I will be responsible for the critters, snow clearance, bill paying, and more. Gosh, what ever will I do? I have done it before, I can do it again. Honest.

critters aren't worried. 

Immobile: A Rant

Have you ever tried to do something and, even though you know you are capable, even though you are physically able to, and even though it isn't dangerous, you find you simply... cannot?

I have been becoming disabled by some invisible force, restraints I never asked for tie me down and keep me from doing simple things. Like, riding the exercise bike in my living room. Like writing these sentences, that I am writing now. Like believing in myself.

What is the reason for this?

Oh, gosh, I really don't know.

It never occurred to me that as I aged I would not be able to physically do things. That my memory would suddenly have a bunch of blank spots. That my doggone hair would  turn so silver so quick! Dang!

I sleep. A lot. I know what this is; this is the sleep of avoidance. I don't want to face up that there is going to be more pain before I can regain movement in my arms. There will be more pain before I can comfortably wear shoes or not wear shoes. I cry.  Yes, I know this whole thing is like a huge WAH! But I haven't been able to cry much and at least I can cry now.

Ahem.

All better now.

The thing is, I know that lack of movement equals lack of ability to move. I know that  our bodies are designed so that movement keeps the blood flowing. I know if I do not stretch my ankles daily, my feet are going to really be hurting and my Achilles tendons will scream at me as well. I have the power and ability to fix this.

But pain is a powerful deterrent.

Tom just brought home a weight bench and dug out the remaining weights that were left here by my brother. So now, an exercise bike, weight bench, elastic bands, and a exercise ball reside in my home. Where I am basically tripping over them. Right there, easily accessible. Right there.


Deep breath, plan, and....begin.

One step at a time. One word at a time. I will become active. I will write. I will learn. I will not go quietly. I fight for my mind, my body, my heart. The passion is still somewhere in me. I will find a way to wake it up and live.

Deep breath. Begin.

Bra Man

When I was little, I had a fuzzy pink shirt that I loved. I wore it and wore it, until one day I tried to put it on and promptly got stuck. My arms were stuck over my head through the sleeves. The top of my head was sticking out through the neck hole.  I needed help. I am pretty happy that cellphone cameras were not around back in those days. It would have been hilarious…now, maybe.

But now, this kind of thing happens to me a lot. Not because of shirts that are too small, but because of old age, collateral damage to my shoulder, and having to wear a bra.

Getting older is a bugger.

I tell you what. Had I been more adventurous and more athletic, maybe I would have less aches and pains. Maybe more. No one really warns you of the consequences you face with your life choices.  They are different for everyone. Some people get off relatively easy, others are riding around on a Rascal before they reach their 60’s.

Me? I am living with the pain of someone who has worked on hard floors in bad shoes for years. Lotsa years. I have flat feet now, and a huge knot on my left Achilles tendon with bone chips in it. My ankles, twisted and sprained many times as a child trying to ice skate or roller skate or merely get off the monkey bars, are managing to hold me upright and keep me walking. For how long? Who knows?

I have fallen down stairs and out of trees and off horses with minds of their own. No problem. I fall on the sidewalk, no biggie, hit my knees and got up and kept walking. Big problem! My WHOLE LEG turned black and blue, and in a couple more months, got this really ugly nasty infection in the knee and exploded!

Sigh.

People are in more pain than I, yep, I do know this. Other people have harder things going on. That knowledge does not make me any better. I am going to whine some.

Getting back to the point: Wearing a bra is a non-negotiable to me. I am a baker, and I do a lot of frying. “Things” are already in the way, and these “things” do not need to be deep fried. I am sure you catch my drift. Besides, I was raised not to go without.

Up until recently, I was able to manage dressing myself on my own. I have had that ability for simply years! Then I did something to my shoulder, and it is working on becoming a frozen shoulder. Ouch. This means that putting a bra on has become a huge challenge.

It doesn’t matter if it is the old fashioned fasten in the back style, or the over the head sports bra  style, or the front closing style. Each one has a challenge attached. The range of motion on my right arm (it is ALWAYS the arm you use the most that becomes lame or useless, isn’t it?) is next to none.

Why can’t a bra be designed to be easier to put on, to not have droopy shoulder straps or straps that show if you wear a doggone T shirt, for goodness' sake, or has so many hooks and eyes that it takes a freaking hour to fasten the thing! I am a larger woman. Bras for women like me seem to require that it be similar to a piece of armor, a breastplate, if you will. And if you get the right size one way, the other parts don’t fit. Ladies, I am not the only one with this complaint, am I?

But I have a superhero in my life.

My husband, bless his heart, comes to my rescue. I call for Bra Man, and he shows up!  And helps me get my arms and head and boobs where they need to be.  I would be late for work if it weren’t for his help! I wouldn’t go out in public. I would be lost without him. I am working on getting more range of motion in that rotten arm of mine, but  my hubby isn’t too bothered by having to help me.

You just gotta look for the silver linings, and they are there.

Except, he seems to be having more fun that I am...

Pulling Threads

One of my favorite stories from growing up is the one about Mom pulling a thread.

It was when Mom and Dad were still dating. One night when they were out on a date, Mom noticed a thread hanging. She pulled it. And pulled it and pulled it and pulled it. It really must have bugged her for her to keep pulling it like that. She pulled and pulled and pulled and the thread kept coming and coming until finally, it was all out.

Dad went home and got in trouble with his mom, my grandma. Apparently, he came home without his drawers on, and she noticed when she was gathering up clothes for washing. Big trouble!

Now that I am an adult, I have to wonder if this is a true story, and why, if it is, Dad didn't stop her from pulling on the thread. I mean, he must have noticed! Wouldn't it have tickled?

Thread is a word that haunts me through life. It has many meanings and implications. Not the least the fact that I used to pronounce thread with an "f". I would say, "a thpool of fred". Now my brother tells me that Dad had a lisp. I never noticed! Dad was big and scary and, well, Dad! But I had a lisp too and went to Mrs. Morganroth for speech class in elementary school, where we played "Chutes and Ladders" and other games that allowed us kids to use the words that troubled us correctly, but in a  fun way.

That is why my handwriting is so bad. Penmanship was at the same time as speech. True story.

There are threads that show up through life. A memory here, a quote from a book there, a meeting of old friends and family gatherings. Threads weave, some come frayed. Sometimes they take me by surprise.

You know that movie, "UP", where the dogs keep saying "Squirrel!" and being distracted for a minute? I have those moments. But I could shout "thread!" and really make people wonder. My brain, like most people, keeps hold of many trivial things. Remembering seriously important things comes with a price. But things like old cigarette commercials and how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, those come free and frequently.

One thought ties to another, and soon, there is a whole tapestry woven from frayed thoughts and threads of ideas. It looks and feels like the back side of a needlepoint that someone who is not fastidious has done. The front is beautiful, the pattern is clear and fine. The back, not so much. Threads and knots and chaos!

So, based on the theme of threads, there will be more ramblings to follow.

I wonder how embarrassed Mom was when she heard what she had unraveled...

Memories Like Confetti

A scent in the air, a bit of music, a beloved old book, old postcards and photographs. These are bits of confetti that are our memories. At least, that is how my memories are kept, flashes of this, a glimpse of bright colorful fun there. Quite often the strands of confetti are tangled with others, almost woven together. Some strands are plain, faded paper. Some are oh, so very tarnished.

A book brought this all on. "Silver Boxes: The Gift of Encouragement" by Florence Littauer. It is full of ideas on how to encourage one another, and how it affects both the encourager and the encouraged. Wonderful book. Some of you might find it syrupy and fluffy, but I think that is because we aren't much given encouragement these days. Not nearly enough!

In my former life, when I was young, I was quite...obnoxious... in my faith and life view. I miss those days, when things were so positive and I felt the most grounded ever. But I kind of bulldozed people who stood in front of me with my... zeal. I was still human and prone to mistakes. Oh, I hurt some dear friends with my lack of maturity and understanding of actions and consequences! 

My faith was real. IS real. founded in the love and encouragement of people around me, the prayers of people I barely remember. When I was too little to know better, I knew about heaven and hell, good and bad. I just knew. While my Grandma Maginity was teaching me the twenty-third psalm, and I was getting prizes from the "quiet box" at church, I knew with great depth and certainty about these things. 

This was the time of life full of kittens and puppies and camping, family gatherings and laughter. This was also the time of the Vietnam "conflict" which was broadcast on the news nightly, with friends and family members and neighbors suffering losses and ungodly nightmares. As a child, I was terrified of sonic booms and jets flying over the house. 

As a child, there were secrets to be kept, things to keep hidden. Shame. I was always looking for someone to like me, to approve of me, as a child.

A memory of riding to church in the church van. John Deemer took it on himself to get kids to church

Because my big sister went, I wanted to go to. So I did. It was Adelle Deemer who heard me quietly singing to myself on the way to church one morning. She took me under her wing and coached me to sing a pretty little song, sing it as a special. "Jewels" it was called. I still know it by heart. I can still hear her voice, and how she played piano. She twinkled the piano-there is no other way to describe it. And I can still hear Leo Putney, his giant deep voice saying AMEN when he didn't look like such a voice would come from him.

When I became a teenager, my values changed. 

Oh, you can blame hormones for teenagers but there is still a brain attached to the person in question. It may be a mess inside, but still there! Church was something for old folks and children. I still went. Something to do outside of home, you know. But I had found a boy that I chased with single-minded determination. I don't know why. (At the same time, my now husband was chasing me, but I didn't quite see things the same way as he back then.) I ended up shanghaied to youth camp in 1977. I DID NOT want to go. But I am very, very glad I did.

My best friend after a bit, (she didn't like me at all at first!) introduced me to another author, Ann Keimel Anderson. I can hear her tiny voice on the cassette tapes we used to listen to, quietly singing "something beautiful, something good. All my confusion, He understood. All I had to offer Him was brokenness and strife...He's making something beautiful out of my life" Something Beautiful, Something Good by Bill Gaither  

From this year forward, I was growing up. Not without making a total mess of things along the way. 

Not all confetti is pretty. Sometimes it is overwhelming, obscuring the whole picture. You may have watched AFV, at the end when the winners are announced? Suddenly, CONFETTI!!!!!!!

This kind of confetti holds memories like these: The night of my Dad's open heart surgery, when I was on the phone all night with "that boy" because I was so SCARED! Going 800 miles away from home to start over, and ending up both times going with someone from Benzie County! Foiled! (By the way, it doesn't work. You can't leave who you are behind and start from scratch. You still are you.) My first wedding, getting married without planning ANYTHING. Like, where we were going to live, for instance. My daughter's birth. Nothing can compare to anything to do with my girl. She has been the most amazing life experience for me, and continues to fill me with joy as the adult she has become. The day my Dad died, thirteen years after the open heart surgery. The loss of my great uncle Ray by way of him being a good samaritan just at the wrong time. Family strife of all kinds over the years. The fading and then loss of my Mom. Marrying my old friend and neighbor who is such a good match to me. Coming home to the old house.

Mom and Dad on the left on their wedding day.

Sometimes the confetti gets into uncomfortable places. That's life, right? 

And in the light and darkness of things that were my life, God is there. Faith gives me reasons to open my eyes in the morning, to keep trying to live and work and be me. Hope give me reason not to go hide somewhere and keep the terrible news from coming in. Friends and family give me reason to believe in love and compassion and to hold on to the memories, both kinds. Light glitters off all the confetti of our lives. Maybe some of that light will catch someone who needs it and give them a reason to keep going for the day if not longer.

What makes up your confetti?

Chasing Nature

Muskrat, Upper Herring Lake inlet

I remember Grandma Maginity fearlessly chasing a badger out of her garden, armed with a broom and her voice. This is the same gear she used to chase the neighbor's cows away, too. But a badger! I didn't get to see it, just the activity to chase it. Grandma was fearless.

 A younger Grandma Effie than I knew

I remember when one of my brothers came running in, white-faced and terrified, from taking out the trash one night. He had heard a scream in the dark. A bobcat was near. (Since I posted this, my brother corrected me. The bobcat and  he came face to face at the garbage pit and looked each other in the eye!)

Our huge dining room window faces East, into the sunrise. Eating breakfast required squinting. There was a barn and an open field. One morning, my brother's dog Sarge brought home a friend. Or it brought him; never sure how this happened. The dog was a beagle, the friend was a fox. We watched, entranced, as they played tag with each other. One would crouch down and the other would run round and round, closing the circle, until they touched noses. Then they would trade spots.

It was wonderful.

The dam on the Betsie River was pretty near right behind our house, and we used to walk back to it quite often. There were orderly rows of pines, planted in the 1950's and not very tall back then. One day I was running through the pines just to run, and a doe apparently was doing the same thing. We stopped, frozen on a bed of moss, not five feet from each other. Frozen and holding our breath. How long we stood and stared at each other I do not know. Time stopped.

If I don't move, you can't see me, right?

Grandma Maginity taught me about birds. She fed them, and showed me the difference between male and female cardinals, what phoebes looked like. We laughed at the silly nuthatches and longed to see the summer Baltimore Orioles, humming birds, and of course, the robins. Dad took after his mother and fed birds too. We had Grosbeaks and even a brilliant Red-headed woodpecker!

That was then. This is now.

I had never seen a sand hill crane until about seven  years ago in a field up near Grawn. I saw a huge something, made Tom pull over to see what it was. A sand hill crane! Now I see them every year.

Juvenile eagle

There were never eagles when I was younger. The DDT and other horrible things nearly eliminated them. Now, there are families of eagles flourishing. Eagles, hawks, ospreys. I remember when the osprey family took over a light fixture at the old high school football field, which is now a baseball/soccer/frisbee golf/pick nick area. Ospreys!

We have a casting of this print

When we lived on Upper Herring Lake, we had bear. I saw a tall, long legged bobcat down by the water, playing like a kitten. One animal that crossed the path between home and water looked exactly like a wolverine, but of course it couldn't have been, could it?

Near Elberta, we saw a pair of beautiful coyotes chasing down a deer. They were reddish in coat lush looking. Another strolled through our yard one day. The chorus the provided at night was haunting and wild.

I had seen great blue herons, and not just on the Gwen Frostic Sign. I once watched one in the park near the Benzie Shores District Library eat a fish. It was a big fish, and eating it took some planning. The bird put the fish down, looked it over carefully, then picked it up again, trying to get it in position to swollow it.  Over and over again he tried. The fish was huge! Finally, after many attempts, he got the head aiming down his gullet and started to swallow it. Poor thing had a neck full of fish for some time. He must have been uncomfortable!

Head down, looking for dinner

Green herons I never knew about until the past ten years. One flew over the car on a drive once. Then, we had a nesting pair on Upper Herring Lake for the past three or four years. We named them "Gronk" after the wonderful sound they made.

These days, I listen to the convocation of rooks and ravens with the occasional crow. It is a funny lot of noise, sounds like neighbors shouting at each other. There are still deer that come wandering through the yard. Although there is a house where the barn used to be, and houses down the road and accross the street, the animals still come out. We have bear. Everyone seems to have bear this year. Getting into the bird feeders and the trash. So, we put our bird feeders away and keep the trash in the garage until trash day. Wildlife flourishes.

There are even cougars here. Who knows what else will show up?