Taking pictures of the floor with flash photography. Right next to a sign that says no flash photography. So um yeah, I don’t have any pictures for this one.
Tag Archives: no take backs
Throw-Back-Monday: Climbing The Warren Dunes
If you live anywhere in Northern Indiana and want a quick beach getaway, the dunes on Lake Michigan are where you go. For anyone who hasn’t been to a Great Lake, they are amazing! It’s like looking at a freshwater sea. The view goes on for miles. The air has that seaside crispness (minus the salt) and the breeze feels just as good as the one the Atlantic brings while it trolls ashore. For a landlocked girl from Nowheresville, IN, Lake Michigan was her ocean.
I always preferred the Warren Dunes in southern Michigan to the Indiana Dunes. I don’t know why. These aren’t your typical sand dunes, either. The Warren Dunes tower up to 260 feet above the lake. People climb them and then surf, run, or even roll back down. But it isn’t as easy a feat as one might think.
Home from school one summer, Clifford in tow, I wanted to go to the park. Clifford, Darewood, my older sister, and I piled into a car and headed to Michigan. The Warren Dunes were only about an hour and a half away, so an easy day trip. Though Clifford had grown up in South Africa and traveled extensively in his younger years, he had never seen anything quite like our dunes. Needless to say, he was impressed.
I think Darewood had decided early on that he was going to climb the tallest dune. Clifford looked it up and down and decided he was in. You only live once, right? The thing is, this was back in the day where Darewood was still fairly athletic and Clifford was a cigarette smoking fiend who felt that sitting on a couch watching TV exerted too much energy. But hey, who am I to judge?
So this is where I need to explain what climbing the largest dune can be like. It sits at more than a 45 degree angle in several locations. It’s steep. The sand is also ridiculously soft. Tower Hill, the most popular and prominent dune, sits 240 feet above the lake. A climb to the top is not for the faint of heart. Tower Hill can be a challenge for youths, let alone adults striving to prove their worth. It is a chore, but a rewarding one. There’s nothing quite like the experience of reaching the top, scanning the shoreline and observing the sun setting over the great lake.
Perhaps not so impressive? Just a small hill, right? (image: campsitephotos.com)
How about now? See that tiny little guy about to climb? (image: michianacindy.blogspot.com)
Darewood was ready. Clifford was, too. My sister and I were contemplating it. We thought we’d wait and see since we’d been watching people repeatedly making it half way, throwing in the towel, and running back down.
So Darewood began jogging up the hill. Well, jogging the best one could through several feet of sugar soft sand. Clifford, watching Darewood’s technique, decided to follow suit.
Let’s just say each of these boys was not like the other.
As Darewood continued to bound up the 240 ft peak fairly effortlessly, but still sucking some wind, Clifford wasn’t having quite the same success. In fact, he was on his hands and knees, crawling and gasping for air, looking a little something like this …
Cliff climbing Tower Hill.
But a touch more desperate and his face had a tinge of blue.
By this point my sister and I were walking past him, staring in awe. Oh yeah, and laughing our asses off. We had decided to embark on the same quest, but were taking a more leisurely approach by walking to the top in a round about way. Still with the hill so steep, walking can be almost worse than jogging. So yes there were times we struggled with our footing, and yes, we too were out of breath, but our experience was nothing like that belonging to the crippled puffing mass dragging his body up the hill, spitting the sand particles out of his mouth while whimpering in pain.
Should I have stopped and helped the guy out? Meh. Who am I to come between a man and his failing attempt at simulated glory?
Besides, he did make it to the top – eventually. He also thought we may have to call him an ambulance, but that’s part of the fun, right? I was pretty proud I made it to the top that day, and though I felt like I needed to catch a bit more than a breath, Clifford was sincerely requesting an oxygen tank. But just check out that view …
View from the top of Tower Hill. We did it! Wish I had photos to commemorate the occasion. (image: Jung Family at avoision.com)
Have you ever been to the dunes of Great Lake Michigan? Share your experience with the world below.
How Pepsi Made My Summer
I had a Pepsi last week. It was a spur of the moment decision. See, I don’t drink pop that often, but when I do, I drink Coke. I live in Atlanta, I mean c’mon. In fact, Coca Cola has been so ingrained in me down here, that I probably haven’t had a Pepsi since my college days. And I’m talking straight up Pepsi, not Mountain Dew or Dr. Pepper (I’ve noticed down South you could mean Dr. Pepper, 7UP, Pepsi, or Mountain Dew, yet they still say “Coke” for everything).
It’s not because you can’t find Pepsi here, though it does seem scarce at times. There are those loyal chains that carry the brand, but I don’t usually eat at those restaurants, and again, I don’t usually order pop.
I digress … the bottom line is, for whatever reasons (mostly my proximity to Coke country), I had a Pepsi, and I never have a Pepsi. It was a sunny summer day, the kind where you can smell the fresh cut grass and the BBQ burning in the backyard down the street. And suddenly I was taken back to Hoover Field in New Paris, IN.
The great Hoover Field.
The trusty old scoreboard. Wait – is that a Pepsi logo I see?
Total-Take-Back: The Breast Pump Debacle
My sister chucked her breast pump at the wall. I can only imagine the frustration a mother like her must feel, trying to provide food for her screaming infant to no avail …
Breast Pump
The wall. She actually bent the metal, breaking the pump and ricocheting the pieces into the back of her closet.
The batteries were dead.
Suit Shopping
Clifford and I went suit shopping. We walked into the store where a wannabe hipster, for all intents and purposes let’s call him Tool, waited on us rather reluctantly and quite terribly. Everything he offered up was ridiculous, just like his taste in clothing. Finally, at my prodding, we landed a sharp navy blue suit for the hubs to try on.
Clifford came out of the dressing room and as we analyzed the look and fit, Tool actually came back to check in. Clifford looked at me and asked, “What color shoes do you think?”
I said black. Then Tool chimes in, “Oh no. Brown with Navy blue for sure. But like a tan. I really like a light tan and navy blue together. Just really sets it off.” This coming from a man whose sickly-skinny brown suit pants were so short, his calves were sticking out along with his ankles sitting snug as bugs in their orange dress socks.
So it played out like this.
1. Me, standing behind Tool staring wide-eyed at Clifford, shaking my head wildly while mouthing the word NO repeatedly. (don’t judge. you’ve totally done that before.)
Clifford, me and Mr. Skinny Slacks
2. Tool, facing Clifford,staring at me in the giant mirror behind Cliff’s head. (so maybe I’m not as subtle as I thought?)
Perhaps Mr. Skinny Slacks misread my signals …? Yeah. Doubt it.
Felt bad till I learned Tool was an Ohio State alum.
Felt great when Clifford looked at Tool and said with total sincerity, “Wait. You mean Ohio State is a real school? I thought it was just for farmers.”
And that’s why you marry a South African, folks. No-take-backs.
Throw-Back-Monday: Way Down Yonder On The Chattahoochee
It was around Memorial Day a few years back. Two of my sisters and I headed out to the quaint little German town about an hour outside of Atlanta – Helen. I had been there once or twice before. It sort of feels like a Redneck version of Epcot. I mean pulling into town, one half expects to see Mickey and Minnie waving from a corner in their lederhosen and dirndl. So of course I love it. Next best thing to Pigeon Forge. AND you drive through Cabbage-Patch country to get there. Being a mad collector of Mattel’s adorable little adoptees as a kid, this just added to the cool factor in my book.
The village looks like something out of Heidi. Well, an American touristy version of what Heidi’s village should look.
Oh, Heidi! WIR LIEBEN DICH!
German inspired, tourism with a capital T. But the cheese is what makes it so great!
A rough Hansel and Gretel getting their beer on.
Throw-Back-Monday: I Won A Radio Contest
A throw-back to last Monday …
So I won tickets to see Boston. I don’t k now if it was the fact I actually won something OR the fact I’m going to see Boston OR if it’s the fact I called into a radio show which I haven’t done since I called U93 in South Bend to request Kokomo be played during its top ten heyday (kinda dated myself there a bit, huh?), but last Monday was one of the most exciting I’ve had in quite some time.
Here’s what happened: Continue reading
Throw-Back-Monday: New York, New York
Years ago I was the sole illustrator for a cool greeting card company based in Georgia. It was a fabulous job and I worked with fabulous people. As most companies in the industry would do, we found ourselves attending the National Stationary Show at the Javitz Center in New York City.
It was my first time in the Big Apple and I got to bring Clifford with. We were set up at the Marriott on Times Square. The energy was electrifying. Whatever entertainment I was seeking, New York had it. Whatever drink I desired, New York was serving it straight. And whatever food I wanted, New York was my personal chef catering to my every edible whim.
Clifford and me on Times Square.
My Dad Turns 70 Today
For my Dad’s 70th birthday today, my oldest sister has written a guest post. Thanks, Karen! And Happy Birthday, Dad! We love you!
In honor of my Dad’s birthday I wanted to share the story of the Great Tomato Contest. Dad liked to have a garden every summer. Summer squash and tomatoes were always planted. I am sure that his interest in this endeavor came from his father; William B. Gross. My Grandpa Gross was an amazing gardener.
Grandpa’s garden.
Every summer his vegetables produced a bountiful harvest. His sweet corn stood 7 feet tall and his tomatoes were gargantuan!
Grandpa with his wicked tall corn.
Seriously gargantuan tomatoes.
They were juicy, red, five-pound monstrosities! Dad’s tomatoes were never quite the same size. If you know my family, you are aware that we are quite competitive. Obviously this has been passed down through the generations because this same competitiveness resulted in the Annual Great Tomato Contest within the family.
The contest was to see who could grow the biggest tomato of the year.
Largest tomato won the title.
This was a contest taken very seriously by the competitors. Great thought and care was given the tomato plants throughout the growing season. Secret fertilizers were applied and special techniques were used to maximize the size of the tomatoes. On an assigned day, the best tomato of the crop was taken to Grandpa’s house to be measured and weighed. This contest had been going on for years with Grandpa Gross always emerging as the winner.
Finally, there came the year when Dad announced that this time he had the tomato that would win it all. On weigh-in day Dad attempted to get everyone in the car in order to be on time. He gently picked the tomato and carefully prepared it for the journey across town. Those of you that have small children know that it can be a time-consuming process to load the family into a vehicle in order to be someplace on time. Also it can be quite stressful.
With gritted teeth, Dad finally got into the front seat and began to back out of the driveway with everyone clamoring noisily in the backseat. I remember that I looked to my side out the car window and saw a reflection of our car in the house window. I thought I saw something red on the roof of the car reflected in that window, but didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to make us late.
Dad was almost giddy in anticipation of presenting his prized tomato that was going to top all others that year. We arrived at Grandpa’s house. We piled out of the car and went to see what size tomato Grandpa had grown this year. We thought Dad was behind us carrying his own tomato, but he was still at the car looking in the front seat, back seat, and trunk. He suddenly came into the house and said that he must have forgotten to bring the tomato. It was at that point that I realized that the reflection of something red on the roof of the car was actually the tomato Dad had placed there as he was herding all of us into the car.
um yeah …
It was a long ride home as we pondered what might have happened to Dad’s winning tomato. There was hope that it might still be intact and could be returned to Grandpa’s house to win the contest belatedly. Unfortunately it was not to be. The tomato was found by the side of the road (not intact in case you were wondering). Grandpa Gross was the winner once again!
It has been many years since the Great Tomato Contest, but Dad still enjoys growing tomatoes every summer. Even though he never emerged the winner then, he is a winner to us and we love him. Good luck with your tomatoes this year!
The Birthday Boy with his little boy – many many (many) years ago. Happy Birthday, Dad!
Throw-Back-Monday: Circles
My dad turns 70 this week (shout out to the Old Man!) so I’ve been reminiscing a bit, going through old photos and the like when I came across some pictures from my first trip to Italy. Ahhhh, the memories!
My dad used to travel to Italy for business in my younger years. I thought he must have the greatest job in the world to be able to travel to Italy. Of course he’d always tell me travelling for business wasn’t what I thought it was and it wasn’t exactly “fun”, either (years later, I now completely understand what he meant by that statement).
I would look at his pictures dreaming of the day I could walk through Rome or sit in a café in Florence. I was even enamored of the pigeons (the ridiculous amount of disease-ridden pigeons waddling over every square inch of cobblestone streets). So when I found myself living in Arezzo one summer, my plan was to document it all like my dad had done. Full circle, if you will. I had my sketchbook, my journal and my black and white film. Yes, film. I noted everything.
I could go on and on about my adventures there, but I’ll save those for another day. What caught my eye were these little gems taken with my trusty 35mm camera.
Roman Forum
Roman Forum
Roman Forum
Roman Forum
Twelve years and one trusty iphone camera later, I took this.
Roman Forum
I’d created my own full circle. Circles are lovely things. They take us back to the beginning, reminding us of where we’ve been and how far we’ve come. These photos reminded me of how some things change (like resolution), and some things don’t (like ancient ruins in the center of a city). The years fly by in a blink of an eye and sometimes, with a little luck, they circle back around so we have a chance to improve the picture. Seize those moments. They are few and far between.
What Full Circle moments have you captured over the years? Send me your photos! I’d love to share them with the world!
