2 weeks in MI, and all we did was beach, beach, beach

Wow, sorry for that long bloggatical, but Josie and I just spent a steamy, sunny two weeks in the Moustachigan (so-named by my pal Jeff Hannah) and were just too busy, and sweaty, to blog (seriously - I tried but my fingers kept slipping off the keys, and my laptop's "condensation alert" light kept blinking). We had a wonderful time; Josie was reunited with Nom, Bee-pa and Unca Andy, and we saw bazillions of friends, played with puppies and explored most of Southeastern Michigan's finer cuisine. I'll try to hit the high - and low - points.


Boy did we pick the right time to go – total Americana week. It all kicked off with the newly re-branded "Boat Week" parade (now centered around the annual Port Huron to Mackinac Sailboat Race) in Port Huron, which was a bit different than I recall from my childhood (the Crossbow Float? the Walking Organ non-float? what happened to Girl Scouts and Shriners riding around in those little cars?) but jolly fun anyway. The next day, four generations of Davidson women met at the Golf Club pool for some swimming and lunch (thanks Gramma and Aunt Peggy!). Then my dad and I hit two Boat Night parties, seeing lots of friends old and new, high school, college and beyond. Boat Night is good, clean American fun...mostly. There was that priceless moment whilst waiting outside the Yacht Club for my friend M's husband to fetch the car and pick her up.

M: This was fun, I wish I didn't have to go so soon!
Me: Me too!
(six feet away, man is wrestled to the ground by two officers, tasered & cuffed for public urinating).
Man: Let go of me man, it was just a piss!
M: Yeah, maybe it is time for me to go.
Me: Yeah, I hear that.

Don't get me wrong, it was a terrific time. I only had to use the Port-a-John once, and now they provide hand sanitizer! And thankfully, Dad and I were home before midnight so that we could bounce up early with Miz Jo for my favorite Race Weekend activity, the Pancake Breakfast and Boat Parade. Wolfing pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausages, we would always watch the boats go out of the marina, under the bridge and down the river to the lake. I had not been in fifteen years (at least!) but it was great. Something about those big boats, festooned with flags and hunky, hungover deckhands really melts my butter.

Watchin' the boats go by

Race Day itself – everyone gathers on various beaches to "watch the race," usually a bit difficult as the sailboats are miles out, so it's really to swim, drink beer and eat fried food – was terrific, spent on the same beach with the same friends who've hosted us since I was four. Fried chicken, potato salad, seven-layer dip, even cookies shaped like sailboats. Unca Andy continued Josie's 2-week private swim tutelage and MAN is that girl a mermaid-in-training. She loves, loves, loves the water –lake and pools equally– and reaaally loved her first powerboat ride in a 1927 somefin-fancy-wooden-schmiffen-wiffen cruiser. We all loved that, actually. Thanks Mr. S.

The next week was a whirl of friends and children and beaches and pools. My friend A and I (one of the infamous Lemon Sisters) trucked to Ann Arbor for a very mini college reunion. It was the perfect 24 hours: late lunch at Dominick's (they no longer sell Amaretto Sours by the pitcher, we were both disappointed and relieved to discover, but they do still have the peel-and-eat shrimp Bethie!), stroll through campus, bit o'shopping, massage, used-book shopping (it is still us bookworm-nerds), and gorgeous dinner at Eve, a new restaurant opened by a former Top Chef contestant. Dinner was followed by a Nostalgia Pub Crawl, from Ashley's (so crowded we couldn't get in the door), to Cottage Inn, to Rick's (we may have been the sole patrons that evening), to Goodtime Charleys, where we made a BadIdeaJeans decision to order crazy college drinks in big Ball Jars, filled with all kinda crazy alkools like Maliblue Rum, Mocha-Chocalua, and possibly every ingredient contained in both the Slippery Nipple and Cement Mixer. Still, after stumbling back to the Campus Inn, we were able to stay up and chat until the wee hours. After a gorgeously greasy breakfast at the Broken Egg, we traipsed through the Art Fair, visited our respective sorority houses and our senior year group house, lazed on the grass eating Stucchi's, and finally headed back to reality –and our children– for a splashy play-date at the Troy Aquatic Center (SO fun! Those are tax dollars well-spent!).

Thursday my mom and I headed back to Ann Arbor for une vrai Art Fair promenade (hitting every booth, including the State Democrats and the Lemon Slushies), and Friday night began my 20-year high school class reunion weekend. It having been so hot, I'd had no time for shopping, and of course my husband was back in England, so I was dateless and had nothing to wear – just like high school! Thankfully, my friend E was at the ready as my escort (E and I have known each other since we were four and fought over her Hollie Hobbie colorforms, but really became friends at our 10-year reunion –proof there is value in going to these things) for both Friday night's "meet and greet" and Saturday night's main event. I had volunteered to help with the "class trivia" speech, and E valiantly offered to co-pilot; while giving Josie a bath earlier in the week I had decided it should be a song (in true Fanny Brice fashion, hoping if they laugh with you, they're not laughing at you). So E and I cooked up new lyrics to our class song, "I get by with a little help from my friends," full of references to stonewashed jeans, Motley Crue, and a bizarre Port Huron tradition called "Funeral," in which, before the football game with our crosstown rivals, we would construct fake corpses (of said crosstown players) and tie them onto the fronts of our cars and cruise around town. Aaahhhh, the good old days, before morbid pastimes like gang-violence video games and Facebook bullying took over kids' free time.

I had actually been dreading the reunion a bit... meant to lose ten pounds but in some strange fit of psychological subterfuge had actually gained ten (probably all the seven-layer dip and lemon slushies). Again, no time to shop so only had the probably too-dressy Parisian frock from last summer in my suitcase. But in the end it was quite fun – got to catch up with friends from early childhood through high school, even spending the afternoon prior on my friend A's beach with all her children (mine had refused to leave her new Beauty and the Beast dress). The white zinfandel was probably flowing a bit too freely, but hey – every 20 years or so is that really a crime? And the trivia song performance wasn't too much of a train wreck, thanks to the recruiting of our friends E, an Episcopalian priest, H, a vocal coach, and D and J, who were part of the original 1990 rendition.


The 2-week sojourn closed with more family fun, including a bbq styled by Unca Andy and a superfun trip on the Huron Lady, Port Huron's very own Bateau-Mouche (Josie called it a "Pirate Boat," of course, her obsession with Captain Hook remaining strong in our nautical village). I recommend this Lady to everyone living in or visiting the Port -- I learned some fun facts about ancient Native American lore, the production of fake rubber in Sarnia's Chemical Valley (yeah, thanks for all the cancer, eh?) and of course, hometown genius Thomas Alva Edison. Perfect way to round out the trip.

I should probably save the painful deets of our trip home for another post, save perhaps to reminisce wistfully about the good points – how one Continental staffer repeatedly paged me as "the lady flying to Brussels, with the small child, who was just here;" how yet another, when I dared ask about partner carriers that might carry flights later than the Bristol leg I would surely miss, directed me to go find out where Lufthansa flies and come back; how yet a third told me in response to my sweaty and exuberant thanks they didn't hold the Bristol flight for me, they never wait for passengers (um, thanks). Oh, and let's not forget the woman posted at the inter-terminal shuttle who told me to relax, and take my time, because the Bristol flight was delayed an hour (it wasn't). Good times. Can't imagine why this route has been canceled effective November '10.

We're back, safe and sound, but there's nooo rest for the wicked as Jeff's bro Roger and family arrived yesterday for lots o' gobsmacking fun. With the cheesetastic Bath Bus Tour and fascinating Roman Baths themselves under our belts, we've got 4 days left to cram in Cotswolds beauty, ale tasting, bike rides on the Avon, and lots of curry.

We'll close with Josie's latest favorite song, a ditty sure to battle Katy Perry and Snoop for the summer's top hit. It's "Wind the Bobbin Up," here on BATH 23FM, signing out.