Memories of The Guggenheim


When I visited the Guggenheim a few years ago, we were told not to photograph the glass ceiling. They said we could buy a postcard in the gift shop. Me being the rebel I am, took the shot anyway. There was some satisfaction in pulling it off without anyone knowing what I was up to. My Adam Boy knew. He was mortified, and  sure I was going to jail. I assured him I wasn’t going to jail if I was caught. I was creating a memory. Of the glass ceiling, rebellion and my son.

After I took the photograph, I ran up the ramps of the museum. I was morbidly obese at the time, so running wasn’t that easy. I kept up though. I commented on sculptures that looked like copper vaginas and how we could’ve skateboarded down the ramps as we perused the ‘art’.

We tried to lunch there, but it was all gourmet. Our kids wanted McD’s. Hell, Kathy and I did. Yummy french fries with lots of salt. We walked blocks for them. Passed homeless people and gobs of construction.

We arrived at the Golden Arches and I swear, I heard the singing of angels as we opened the doors and walked inside. I was covered in the sweet smell of grease from hot fryers. I took in the scent of burgers and I knew I was home. It was like sex. That smell.

The kids and us chaperones ordered our food on the main level and then wandered up the two flights of stairs to nosh. Oh what sweet heaven those salty fries were. The decadent flavor of that 1.00 burger. Mmmmmmm.

Wandering back to the Guggenheim, I wondered, could I ever fit in here? In the city that never sleeps? No. My home is in a small state shaped like a mitten. No matter how much I dream, my heart belongs here. As does my family, friends, and life. I can’t imagine a better state to be from. I just can’t.

Weekends in Up North, Michigan

California is beautiful to look at, but you can’t be a part of it like you can in Michigan.-Jennifer Granholm

Weekends Up North on the Ausable River.

Fresh bread browning in the toaster.

Maxwell House Coffee brewing in the old percolator.

Bacon sizzles in an old cast iron skillet, seasoned for years.

Eggs are fried in bacon grease.

The smell of breakfast permeates the air both inside and outside of the cabin.

We stand outside, coffee in hand and gaze out at the mighty river flowing by.

The sun reflecting on it reminds me a bit of what Heaven will look like. If I make it there.

We sit on the porch swing. Talk about the day. Laze around in the heat with bugs buzzing around our heads.

Mom plants flowers. Weeds gardens. Waters everything with a pump we have to prime with river water.

We painted the exterior of the cabin in no time.

Partied in the pole barn. Drank beer from the kegorator.

Thunderstorms would come. The kids would “Dirt Dog” in the puddles, as the water would flow through the lawns. Into the mighty Ausable.

Meggie took her first swim in that river. Her first summer on this Earth. Her relationship, her need for water came from that river.

As they got older, she and Adam Boy would dig for cray fish on the river bank. We’d watch the dogs eat them whole. Right out of the bucket.

I’d make dinner with Mom. She taught me SO much! How to be a mom, wife, cook, Wonder Woman. Miss her every day.

Canoe trips with the kids. Canoe trips with friends and family. Tie them together. I never put an oar in the water. I drank and smoked. Looked pretty, sunned myself. Roger Darling did the work.

I love those times we shared in Mio. We don’t get there much now that we have our place in the Pines. We are going to visit in August though. The whole family. Food, beer, shots, conversation and raucous laughter. In the pole barn, the river, the canoe, the porch swing, the kitchen. Family and the Ausable River. Now there is “nothing” in this world better than that.