It’s a wonderful thing when a patient becomes a friend. Such was the case with Valda from Kalamazoo. We found that we shared much in our views on food, music, and politics, and concern for the future of Kalamazoo. She became sort of a protegée, as I guided her along recipes, including some from my “cookbook’ (1). Of course, I had to inflict upon her my boomer music sensibilities, a boom she just missed, settling for her “Prog Rock”.
When a recent near disaster plunged me into a meeting with my recipes, I thought she’d get a kick out of my description of the proceedings, which I note below.
I know you’re rockin’ away on that boat, proggin’ down and head bangin’. I hope you’re having half as much fun as I have these past 2 ½ days. I stumbled into an unexpected project when my shaking of the screen that held all my recipe boxes left Aunt Dorie’s bigger box on the floor. Some pick up and rearranging would be in order regardless, but I knew this box was the spot where my dear late aunt also parked her torn-out recipes. I’d been meaning for years to organize these and clip them out to paste on 3X5 cards. Here was my chance. Here I am, 10 gluesticks and 2 packs of 3X5 cards done. I still have to finagle with some entries, laminating, Xeroxing, and annotating. Early on, I came across a clipped recipe for Latvian pierogis. I attach it here so you can check it for accuracy (see below). Later, I came across a 4X6 card in my dear Grandma Slater’s handwriting for “pirox” attributed to “Mrs. Miske”, her exotic Latvian neighbor. I couldn’t find the card as I started to write this. Grandma loved those little ham-filled rolls and they graced every outing table.
Fun to go through the old recipes. Grandma and the rest of the Slater women loved their cookies, pies, and cakes (as did her grandson!). But in there are some gems, like the Slater family recipe for mincemeat (annotated by my aunt as “very valuable”). I also found a recipe for “green tomato mincemeat”. I found my grandma’s recipe for “suet pudding”, but can’t decide in which category I should file it. The torn-out recipes come on so many different media. I’ve cut recipes from torn out pages of personal calendars, tops of Quaker Oats cannisters, empty packages of Lipton soup, backs of grocery cashier slips, and of course numerous clippins from newspapers and magazines. I’ve taken to including, when such info is available, the date and name of publication. Oldest so far is from a 1965 issue of Grit.
I wrote a couple years ago about the joys of going through old recipe boxes (2). Such deep memories they bring, especially in a family like mine where food was so important. Seeing the handwriting of long-dead but much-loved people, I can almost smell the goodies these recipes would produce to serve me. Who knows how much I’ll dive into these 2 boxes once organized (yes, Aunt Dorie had a separate box for 3X5 cards). There are some “dupes”, if you’re interested.
Well, it’s kept me from writing that damned article I’d promised an editor by St. Patrick’s Day. I guess that’s next. Hardly as tasty.
As promised, here’s that Latvian recipe:
References
Ike R. Musing through a pandemic. On the sidelines. Volume V. Foodies!. Amazon (Kindle) 2022. Published 8/26. https://a.co/d/1mkh613
My Spotify turns up endless delights. Tonight, my “Cat Stevens Radio” Spotify channel spit up an old Bob Seger classic that’s always been very meaningful to me (1).
As I felt once again these lyrics in my soul, I thought perhaps most superficial fans missed the meaning of this song. Sure, it’s about how tough life is, but there’s so much more.
Just like those catechism books that strove you to digest several lines of explanation for a single fragment of scripture, I ask that you bear with me my interpretation of Seger’s lyrics, my interpretations in italics.
It seems like yesterday But it was long ago Janey was lovely she was the queen of my nights There in the darkness with the radio playing low, and And the secrets that we shared The mountains that we moved Caught like a wildfire out of control ‘Til there was nothing left to burn and nothing left to prove And I remember what she said to me How she swore that it never would end I remember how she held me oh-so-tight Wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then
My Rosie post-dated Bob’s Janey, but she was the queen of my nights, parked in the back roads by the airport. “Night Moves (2)” is also highly apropos. Unlike Bob, I’m not so sure about my ignorance
Against the wind We were runnin’ against the wind We were young and strong, we were runnin’ against the wind
This was the way. We thought we were on it, only to get blown back.
The years rolled slowly past And I found myself alone Surrounded by strangers I thought were my friends
Boy oh boy, does this happen!
I found myself further and further from my home, and I Guess I lost my way There were oh-so-many roads I was living to run and running to live Never worried about paying or even how much I owed Moving eight miles a minute for months at a time Breaking all of the rules that would bend I began to find myself searching Searching for shelter again and again
Was someone else going wild in the 90s? When that’s all gone, of course we’re searching for shelter. If you’re fortunate (like me you have those who have been on the sidelines, ready to take you back.)
Against the wind A little something against the wind I found myself seeking shelter against the wind
Well those drifter’s days are past me now I’ve got so much more to think about Deadlines and commitments What to leave in, what to leave out
Wild life leaves details to be addressed.
Against the wind I’m still runnin’ against the wind I’m older now but still runnin’ against the wind Well I’m older now and still runnin’ Against the wind Against the wind Against the wind
And here come the Eagles
Still runnin’ (against the wind) I’m still runnin’ against the wind (Against the wind) I’m still runnin’ (Against the wind) I’m still runnin’ against the wind (Against the wind) still runnin’ (Against the wind)runnin’ against the wind, runnin’ against the wind (Against the wind) see the young man run (Against the wind) watch the young man run (Against the wind) watch the young man runnin’ (Against the wind) he’ll be runnin’ against the wind (Against the wind) let the cowboys ride (Against the wind) aah (Against the wind) let the cowboys ride (Against the wind) they’ll be ridin’ against the wind (Against the wind) against the wind (Against the wind) ridin’ against the wind…
Good for Bob to mention those who will be joining him. I’ll be there too.
Tear me away! There’s a whole evening of Cat Steven’s radio ahead!
Today’s blog serves as an accessible reference list to “Head in Tree Town, Heart in the ‘burg”, an essay I submitted yesterday to the Southwast Michigan Tournament of Writers. Because readers will see only print, I provide a link to this page so the reader can access the links to which the references refer. The awards ceremony will be in Schoolcraft, April 24. All entries will go into a book – Vicksburg Cultural Center. Small Town Anthology XI: Southwest Michigan’s Tournament of Writers 2025, – available on Amazon.
4. Magnusson M. The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter (The Swedish Art of Living & Dying Series). New York: Scribner, 2018 https://a.co/d/fNgg7no
An essay I’m about to submit to the Southeast Michigan Tournament of Writers (1) weaves around the writing of my first book, a process that really strengthened my ties to my old home town. Started in February ’19, first published May ’21 and updated March ’23, The Accident tells of that awful week in October of ’68 when time stood still in my little Village after my friend and namesake Ike drove his dad’s station wagon bearing 4 other boys into an eastbound Grand Trunk freight. Nobody in the ‘burg alive at that time has ever forgotten it. You can get the book on Amazon as a Kindle for free (2). I print up a run every so often and always have some of the little books available. If you live in Ann Arbor, Kalamazoo, Schoolcraft, or Vicksburg, you can get the book in their libraries. The Vicksburg Historical Society also has a couple copies.
Since it can be done easily, I’ve put a PDF of the book on my GoogleDrive, which you can access through this URL https://tinyurl.com/accident68.
Links to the 2 songs, book, Amazon author page, and newspaper article mentioned in the book can be accessed at https://tinyurl.com/sccidrnt-links
PS. If you check out the Amazon page, you’ll see that all 5 readers of the book who bothered to comment gave it 5 stars!
Listening to John Prine’s Spotify channel last night got me thinking about a project I started years ago and now might be about time to deploy. I’ll link John’s song about this at the end, but first let me relate the details.
From my birth I’ve been lucky. After a while you wonder what the pattern means.
Everyone to whom I’ve described my June 2022 accident – especially those who looked at the crash pictures – say I’m lucky to be alive. I suppose so, and I’m very grateful.
But luck has followed me my entire life
I’m lucky my birth mother, 19 and unwed, chose to carry me and put me up for adoption. I’m lucky a vibrant and loving “Dutch couple” went and had that lawyer make me theirs.
I’m lucky that same couple, and their families, showered me with affection, support, and all things material as they saw me as their much-wanted child. The spoiling continued into my adult years, fading only as most of them died off.
I’m lucky for my father’s success at Fisher Body, which kept him up and supplied his little family with a more than comfortable life.
I can’t say I was too lucky to have lived through unexpected sudden premature deaths of at least 4 close family members – include my mother – before I hit my teens. But it helped me learn early to deal with loss and cherish ever more those who were still around.
I was unbelievably lucky that my mom had a younger sister, my dear Aunt Dorie, who always doted on me and stepped in to provide support, encouragement, guidance, and ever more spoiling after my mother died. A nurse, her gentle nudges of me toward medicine probably were responsible for making me a doctor.
I was lucky Dad secured me a summer job at his plant, giving me not only something to do in the summer (and working with working class folks), but the very real earnings from that job, coupled with extreme savings, paid for all my expenses at U of M.
Getting into U of M was no luck.Grades and test scores assured that.But luck kept me from drowning into the seductive hippie way (eventually) and for flipping me back to science classes when the pre-law/poli sci thing wasn’t working out.
I was lucky to have an academic advisor suggest to me that I pursue a masters program instead of wiling away in undergrad classes as I waited to see what happened with med school. Because of my late decision to pursue med school. I had a year after graduation to fill as I secured my MCATs and buffed up my application.
Yes, I was very lucky to get into med school.Few of the schools to which I applied even offered an interview.Visiting the prestigious University of Chicago, the Dean of Students (who loved student athletes) sized me up and asked if I played basketball.“IM” (e.g. intramural) I said.To this day, I believe he heard “I am”. Regardless, my acceptance letter was in the mail the next week.
At U of C, I was lucky to have such attendings as “Fatty” Lou Cohen, Leon Resnekov, Jim Boyer, Leif Sorenson, Sam Refetoff, “Albino” Baker and Irv Rosenberg (whom I learned years later was uncle to my brother-in-law Bob’s first wife).They recognized my talents, encouraged me to develop them, gave me direction and support, and pushed me to become the best doctor I could be, not an urge I felt entering med school.All my patients need to thank them.
Luck landed me in St Louis, at the great Barnes Hospital.Blame the match computer.I had the BS flowing when I interviewed there with pulmonologist Dr. Bob Bruce, who must have bought it.When I made the call from London on March 15 to learn where the match computer had put me, it was Barnes, my 4th choice. My response to the news “no shit!”. None of the other 9 programs I visited sent me a “magic letter” saying they wanted me. Such letters are directed to candidates the program really wanted but passed over in the match
I must have had a guardian angel watching over me at Barnes for all the trouble I got into.There were plenty of earthly St. Louis angels about who seemed to like tall geeky house officers
I should even find it lucky that my hard-assed chief of Medicine Dave Kipnis chose to punish some of my transgressions by withholding his approval for me to sit for boards pending proof of successful completion of a year of employment followed by a letter from my supervisor stating I was of good character.Throw me in that briar patch!
The jobs I cobbled together from previous moonlighting paid me 4 times as much as I earned as a resident for far fewer hours worked.My building moved me to a 16th floor penthouse overlooking Forest Park, where I entertained some lovely angels.I’d signed up for my fellowship at Michigan just as that extra year started, so I felt secure.Giles Bole at U of M, one of the only 4 institutions I’d visited, offered me a post.Barnes, UCSF, and Hopkins all passed.Giles told be he’d chosen to ignore Bevra Hahn’s letter, which was quite negative. She was the star rheumatologist at Barnes, and an inspiration to many. 5 of my class of 30 chose to go into rheumatology. While Bevra was probably one who tipped me to a future in rheumatology, and I thought I’d performed well on her service, I had the habit of leaving her Monday PM rounds before they were finished so I could make my moonlighting job at Christian NE up north in Florissant.Another stroke of luck that Giles would ignore that blot.I think I validated his opinion, as he offered me a faculty post a year and a half later. UofM was full of great role models, old (Giles, Bill Castor, Armin Good, George Thompson) and young (Tommy Palella, Joe McCune, Tom Schnitzer).Tom took me into his virology lab, where my greatest stroke of luck occurred. Tom mused with Tim White of Kinesiology what might happen if the mice I was making polymyositic with reovirus were exercised.Tom arranged a meeting with Tim’s PhD student who knew how to exercise rodents.Tall, dark, smart, and lovely, she says she fell for the white coat and the line of talk about polymyositis.We’ve been inseparable since, even if the project went nowhere.It’s all been gravy.
I didn’t know when I landed at UofM their department of Medicine was being run by a young hotshot up from Duke, Bill Kelley.Bill never saw a boundary he didn’t want to push. A rheumatologist himself, he saw his specialty as needing to adopt “certain technical procedures appropriate to our specialty”, particularly arthroscopy.That notion was in place before I arrived, but when Tommy Palella, his protégée, introduced me to him, he saw his point man for the project.I thought he’d been impressed by my smarts when I presented a case of Brucellosis I’d diagnosed, but his son Mark, then an intern on my service my second year on faculty, said the main attraction was size.I was 6’8” tall. Mark said that according to his dad, “orthopods always respect size”.Conveniently, Bill’s first fellow at Duke was a guy named Bill Arnold, who’d moved into private practice after tiring of purine research at U Illinois.Bill had partnered with a Northwestern orthopedist to learn arthroscopy, and was doing it independently in Chicago.So off I went for a year with Bill to learn the craft.It wasn’t the smoothest path, but life as a pioneer led to papers, courses, international speaking engagements, and a lifetime as the “scopydoc”, even though I finally stopped doing it in 2001.
It was hard to pull away for that year in Chicago.The May before I left Kathy and I went house shopping with Gail Kimball, wife of Olympic diving coach Dick.On about our 3rd day out, we happened on a house on Harbal Drive, just listed.We put a deposit on the house that day, and eventually got it, although it was in a tax lien and penalty mess from the then current owner.Still, a true stroke of luck.We’d move in in August, Kathy holding down the fort while I came home on weekends.It’s worked out, undergoing renovations during the first Gulf War, then again in 04-’05, when we completely moved out for a year. We love it, and would live nowhere else.It means living in the “People’s Republic of Ann Arbor”, but it’s possible to look past the politics and enjoy the many other features that Tree Town offers.Whether I’d get to stay in Ann Arbor was touch-and-go for a while.I was hired on the tenure track, meaning I’d have 7 years to publish and establish a national reputation.I was kinda slow at the beginning and Tommy had to petition for an extension, based on the fact I’d been hired as instructor but spent that first year acting as a trainee in Chicago.I finally got some papers published and satisfied the promotions committee.Another lucky break.I’ve lived in Ann Arbor all but 8 of the past nearly 55 years.We both bleed blue, and still love our University, even if it doesn’t love us back.
At home, I enjoy the consequences of taking my adoption papers to a PI and ending up with 4 brothers, 6 sisters, and 2 living parents.How lucky is that, to have a brand new family?With my new mom, dad, and 2 sisters now passed, I’ve known loss, but the rest are there.
With time at home, I’ve managed to reconnect with friends from back in the day.Organizing the Zooms for my high school class to connect during the dark times of COVID, I saw some faces that had changed just a little bit. That’s very lucky.I’ve reconnected with friends from the cradle to post-retirement times. Yes, it can take some effort to reach out, but I feel very lucky that these old friends still remember and like me. Relationships are everything.
In the 80s, Purina shot several short films about my life, selecting a charming bulldog – “Ike- the Lucky Dog” – to play my part (1).He still has quite a following.
And ya know you’ve made it when John Prine records a song for you (2).
As life goes on, I relish every morning I wake up. If you need a soundtrack as you go along this same path, listen to more John Prine.
That’s how Norseman Hrafna (Raven) Flóki (getting that nickname as he used ravens to find land from out at sea)) called it when in 868 AD he became the 3rd European to set foot on this little island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, sailing the 1300 km (800 mi) from the Faroe Islands by Scotland (1). Tho’ the two previous proposed different names, his stuck, inspired by all the ice he saw falling into the fiords.. Settlement began in 930 (there were no indigenous peoples to displace, only a few Irish monks) and over 1000 years later, the name has stuck. But Raven was unaware of the much larger land mass to the West, a slab of rock covered over 660,000 square miles with ice averaging over a mile thick, about 80% of its surface. Legend is that Viking Leif Erikson, credited with discovering the island, named it Greenland as a bit of false advertising to lure enemies to a certain demise in the desolate place. Unlike its 836,330 square miles neighbor, little 40,000 square mile Iceland floats on two tectonic plates (North American, Eursian) with local geologists recently discovering the island has a little middle plate of its own, as yet unnamed. And, if you recall your National Geographic specials, the magma on which those plates float escapes as lava between the rifts between the plates (2). So, despite the rain, snow, hail, and glaciers, the liquid shaping Iceland is that hot stuff seeping up. The rifts through which all that lava flows run through Iceland northeast to southwest in a big gash.
But Icelanders aren’t like Hawaiians with go bags packed lest the local volcano blows. There’s plenty of lava that flows here, but the best way to see it is in a Reykjavik restaurant that brings some inside for a hot floor show (3). Apparently, the glaciers dampen things down. But the Reykjavík paper runs with the weather report a daily tally of earthquakes detected on the island. As many as 18,000 quakes have been recorded in one week, although most are of low intensity (2 Richters or less) and hardly felt.
There are many ways to observe the interaction between these different liquids. The first is in your hotel room when you turn on the hot water tap. The local power company, produces almost all of the island’s electricity by geothermal steam, the rest hydroelectric. That steam that comes up is also a commodity used to heat water that is piped out to almost all civilized settlements. So, that water is pretty damned hot (and pure!), buildings are toasty warm against the arctic environment, and nobody owns a water heater. Electricity is not only green, it is very cheap, maybe the only thing that is here. 70% goes to local aluminum smelting plants. The undersea cables don’t exist to sell it to an energy-starved Europe, but this likely won’t happen as that sort of sale would put European prices on the juice, much higher than local prices. As of July 2024, Icelanders paid €0.1702/KwH, still way more than what DTE charges me at “peak”, equivalent of €0.038/KwH. To compare, water is separate. 90% of homes in Iceland heat with geothermal water. Water for drinking if free and hot water for heating is usually bundled into the rent. An owner of a 1080 sq foot apartment can expect to pay about €648 ($724) per year for heating, still less than one fifth what a neighbor in Helsinki can expect.
But the better way to appreciate this special association is to get out of town.
When that water gets heated up underground, pretty soon pressure builds and the stuff has to go somewhere. Of course, it’s quite a show when it blows. There are 20-30 geysers in Iceland, so the shows abound. The English word geyser derives from Geysir, which is derived from the Icelandic verb geyir. Here is Strokkur, which has its own park (and gift shop!), today and tomorrow..
Now the water itself doesn’t always need all that heat to move along. Sometimes gravity is just enough as that bit of melted glacier moves along over the jagged basalt. Here’s Gullfoss, one of 10,000 or so waterfalls to be had (4). Water doesn’t need that much gravity to move, and it tumbles over rocks everywhere, here with a waterfall and rocky stream.
They put the main power plant out in the country, partly because the higher elevation cuts down on distribution costs for the hot water. They’re so green here they scrub out the little bit of CO2 that trickles up with the harvested steam. They’ve made a tourist attraction out of the plant, complete with our handsome guide Olaf, a gift shop, and coffee service.
All that hot water bubbling to the surface makes for a lot of hot springs (5). Currently, 59 have been identified on the island, with numerous others either too small or too hot for human use. The biggest began as a mistake. On the site the Blue Lagoon now occupies, about halfway between the airport and Reykjavik, was going to be another geothermal power plant, built on an 800-year old lava field; in 1974, the drilling to find superheated water found a collection that could not be stanched. Engineers at the facility had expected the water to seep through the lava and return to the earth’s volcanic aquifers. However, owing to the fluid’s high concentration of silica, proper drainage did not occur and a beautiful body of water took shape. The authorities closed the project, but let the water flow, eventually filling an area of 9400 square feet to an average depth of 4 feet . Locals found the new pond welcoming, and in 1987, a doctor from Reykjavík—Grímur Sæmundsen—began to envision a more formalized future for the enchanting site. He imagined a place of health and wellbeing galvanized by the healing waters. What it became was Reykjavik’s biggest tourist attraction, one that has been designated a wonder of the world (6). Besides the 38-400C (100-1040F) water, the high concentration of silica, other minerals, and algae confer health and especially cosmetic benefits. A step into these blue waters (from all the silica) is an excellent way for a tourist to kick off an Icelandic excursion. It’s less crowded these days, as locals are shunning the place out of concern for a potential new eruption of a local volcano, from which new lava would take 10 minutes to reach the lagoon. Talk about a hot tub!
Above ground, the winds off the North Atlantic seldom let up, with every blustery day different from the day before. Sometimes the winds are strong enough to chase skiers off the slopes, concerned with being blown over. But the wind responsible for Iceland’s primo attraction comes from far, far, away – 93 million miles to be precise – when on the sun’s surface sunspots form and solar flares erupt, both flinging supercharged ions into space. This “solar wind” travels up to 60 miles/second and reaches Earth in 15-45 minutes. There, it interacts with the magnetic field of our planet, which directs the energies to the poles. Once there, it reacts with various gasses in the upper atmosphere, producing the dancing colors we know as the Northern Lights.
This show was given a more elegant name by the first man to describe them, none other than Galileo. In the early 17th century , he saw faint light on the northern horizon very early in the morning and thought it resembled an early morning sunrise, “dawn from the North.” Aurora was the Roman goddess of dawn, and Boreas was the Greek name for the north wind, thus aurora borealis. Given that the Northern Lights rarely show as far south as Italy, the great man had to be an astute observer. We learned all this from Professor Saever Bragason of Icelandic University. He’s written a guide to the night skies of Iceland (7) and maintains a web site (8) with all the data you need to chase the Northern Lights. That book is a beauty and sold everywhere (but not Amazon).
He said aurora conditions are excellent right now, but it’s been hard to see much because of the cloudy skies. Despite this, he said that Iceland was one of the best places in the world to see the Northern Lights. He also does eclipses, and says 2026 looks like a good year, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.
To see this celestial display was the main purpose of our trip (9). The pea soup cloud cover we encountered on Sunday’s arrival began to break up, and Tuesday afternoon’s partly cloudy was promising. Our bus trip west out of downtown past the airport to the Garoskagaviti peninsula, about an hour’s drive from our downtown hotel, parked on a rocky beach between two lighthouses (only one functional). There for half an hour we gazed upwards only to see that the partly cloudy sky contained little else but a full moon high in the sky and a bright Venus on the Northern horizon. Then, some of the ”clouds” began to assume a more wispy, convoluted shape. One of the more savvy members of our group mentioned that the colors of the Northern Lights are usually more intense viewed through a camera, including that of a cell phone. Up went the iPhones, quickly followed by collective gasps and oohs. There they were, in all their (mostly) green glory. They danced for us for at least an hour till we decided to pack it in. A single shot can’t capture the wonder of a sky full of aurora, but here are a couple examples.
Can it be that all these energies, coming together from nearly 100 million miles apart, can be but a random event? Maybe somebody is trying to talk to somebody?
We can hope they came in peace for all mankind.
Our afternoon skies as we drive north today to Akureyri in the North show only a few clouds. We’re going out again tonight. Maybe we’ll be able to pick up the conversation.
If my accomplishment was from over the border, perhaps I could apply the term to this Spanish phrase. But since all the production commemorated here came with my butt firmly applanted to my nice Ekornes recliner in my living room, we’ll be happy saying “happy 5th anniversary”. We had another little celebration in the interim, so I forgot the anniversary date (1). What started as a soft spot for reminiscing about a departed friend came a forum for all sorts of expression. from sports to family to COVID to music and food. Bundling blogs according to topic made for several books, and should in the future.
I’m a little tardy here, as I posted my first blog on January 11, 2020. I had quite a fury after that. Bundling blogs according to topic made for several books, and should in the future. All the entries about gifts for this momentous anniversary focus on those for a wedding anniversary. I suppose 5 years of marriage is worth celebrating these days, but I recall that day went whoosh right past. If you were bequesting a 5th year anniversary, it could be a wood object, sapphires, blue and pink daiseys, and silverware. Please keep to yourself, as Kathy and I have all we need. Those words will pour out regardless of who leans on us. Please stay tuned and know we’re always on the lookout.
Coming in from a hot task outside to something cold out of the fridges one of life’s great underrated pleasures. But what happens is someone has purchased said beverages but not put them in the fridge? Oh, the sadness of a warm beer. Relief is on the way. A couple cans in the ice cube tray cool down on no time. But what if the occasion is a little more high class? For a bottle of champagne, to a trivial consumption, two routes emerge. Tossing the bottle back into the freezer will cool it down. But the more elegant, provided you have the hardware, is the pewter ice bucket. Into it go the bottle, ice, salt, and some water. From that you’ve got your chilled bubbly and a very elegant presentation. And bubbly is special. I urge to you consume more. Keep it cold!
My dear wife flew pretty high around the turn of the century as NASA’s Chief Scientist, an experience that informed the motivationql speeches she took to giving after her tenure there. To handle the proceeds from her efforts, she formed an LLC, Docere (doh-kaý-rah; from the Latin “to teach”). Over the years, we’ve taking to running any gains made from education (besides our U paychecks) through the company. 6 months into my retirement, she agreed to name me co-CEO. I commemorated that day with a brief post that remains one of my most popular (1). Made an excuse for ginning up new business cards for the both of us. What is our main product? You can tell by our motto, which we stole from Faber College: “Knowledge is good”. With both of us putting more and more time into writing these days, books have become our main output. Although one of us (RWI) still cranks out obscure scientific papers, what we write is mostly lighthearted, and often personal. And both of us old, retired teachers like to slip in some education when we can.
Six of the 9 books I’ve published so far take their content from my blog, organizing by topic. The first five of those were assembled during the COVID years (’19-‘22), and their titles ran under the theme “Musing Through a Pandemic”. But even after the masks, lockdowns, and distancing, I kept on musing. Hence the title of today’s release: Still musing: Reflections on Interpersonal Relationships (2). Essays run in 3 categories’ “Friends”, “My Brilliant Career” (memories and reflections on medicine), and “This Life”. At 388 pages, it’s my 2nd longest book yet. But it’s a book to pick up, read a thing or two, then put down till later. I neglected to have Amazon make a Kindle version, but I’ll work on that.
Here’s the cover:
Now, Kathy’s focus has been far different. She had books out way before I did, self-publishing two children’s books under her pen name “Auntie KC”. The main character was based on our younger nephew, Skyler. Orion and Aislinn would have to wait, although both were already too grown up for kid’s books. Of course the first was based in space, describing how Skyler and his stuffie pals went to the moon with the aid of a trampoline and a blow-up space shuttle model (3) The second had those characters coming down to earth, as they all came to Ann Arbor for some kid adventures.(4). Kathy admitted the main reason she wrote these first 2 books was to entertain Skyler, with Orion, and Aislinn on the sidelines of creeping maturity. When Kathy retired, it had been 3 and a half years since that last book. She decided she had enjoyed writing kid’s books and went about plugging herself into a writers’ group to learn how to do this better. She’s hired a writing coach and a professional illustrator, with plans for a series of 10 books, each a separate destination in our solar system. When her first new effort came out last spring (5), it looked very slick and fun, plus Kathy learned every grandmother and grandfather (our peers!) was a potential customer, and she moved some product! Maybe she’s got something here. In the second as well as the first, each book is full of clues for the kids to solve, both about their activities on the planet and the next destination in the series. Parents tell her the kids just love that.
So, here’s her cover.
Yes, aliens are involved, but they’re friendly, at least so far. The book is listed on Amazon (6). Kathy also deals directly with customers, having some books published by another house that does not take as big a cut as Jeff Bezos does. All are listed below in “purchasing information”.
2. Ike R. Still Musing. Pondering Interpersonal Relationships. Amazon (Kindle). Published 1/15/25. ISBN: 9798343901122. https://a.co/d/5kegAng
3. Auntie KC. Skycat Goes to the Moon: A Skycat Series Adventure Book. Amazon (Kindle). Published 5/24/24. https://a.co/d/1hlQnnt
4. Auntie KC. Skycat Goes to Ann Arbor. A Skycat Series Adventure Book. Amazon (Kindle). Published 12/12/17. ISBN 1981394346. https://a.co/d/5wGeHqT
5. Auntie KC and Mellors Z. Skyler’s Space Adventures: An Unexpected Encounter. Book 1 of 2. Skyler’s Space Adventures. Amazon (Kindle). Published 5/20/24. https://a.co/d/4ROgrqW
6. Auntie KC and Mellors Z. Skyler’s Space Adventures: This-a-Way or That-a-Way? Book 2 of 2. Skyler’s Space Adventures. Amazon (Kindle). Pulished 1/6/25. https://a.co/d/hHBKcSj
My first book – The Accident – describes events from a tragic time in my teen years. It came up too short for Amazon to make a paperback, so it’s only available on Kindle there. I have a few copies printed up from time to time, and you can write me at the Docere address (docerellc86@yahoo.com) to order one directly.
Links fill my books. No problem if you’ve got a Kindle. Otherwise, I stick in each book a link to the hyperlinked table of contents, so readers can read a page where they can access the link.
I spent my formative years in the little farming village of Vicksburg, in South Kalamazoo County. Then about 2000 souls, it’s grown to over 3600, as the combination of good schools, friendly neighbors, and abundant lakes and streams keeps drawing people in from the surrounding communities While I was one of the smart ones who couldn’t get my ass to Ann Arbor fast enough, over the years I’ve learned that while my head went to Ann Arbor, my heart, or at least a good chunk lf it, remained in the ‘burg. So when I learned from Sue Moore, late editor of the South County News, about her little monthly, I had to start getting it. Back in college, I subscribed to the Vicksburg Commercial, then a weekly run by Sue’s dad, Meredith Clark. My more sophisticated dorm mates got many a good snicker out of the goings on back home described in that paper. The SCN is free, but I send ‘em a check every so often, getting my name in the back of the paper.
The SCN offers much more than illustrated obits, although I’ll admit that’s a part of the paper I’ll never miss.
Kathy Forsythe-Oswalt, retired high school teacher now editing SCN always sees that something pretty spectacular goes on the cover. She outdid herself in January, when her cover looked like this.
The Great Blue has been my spirit bird for as long as I remember. When I catch one curling about to go for their prey , I imagine my own lanky frame uncoiling for a task. For a long time, a Great Blue called this area his home. He had a favorite fishing spot as the sluiceway off the Huron at the Argo dam went to join the Huron River. I know from watching his successful stabs and shakes that it was a good spot for him. The sluiceway was along a path on which I used to run back in the day, when I still did that sort of thing. It was always a special treat to run by and find him fishing. A few years ago, the city decided to make that sluiceway inlet into a whitewater course. The gentle rush of water en route to the river, dancing over rocks, was replaced by a paved waterway. That washed away my Great Blue’s fish and he departed.
So, I don’t see a lot of Great Blues anymore. So, Imagine my joy at seeing that cover. I knew that Kathy had featured some heron stories from a Jeanne Church, a boomer amateur wildlife photographer who has a thing for herons (1).
I wrote Kathy for contact info on her photographer, asking specifically if she had a gallery or sold her work. Jeanne quickly answered, including JPEGs on 5 heron shots. Now I have a dilemma as to which I want on my walls! Having tried to get these images to friends who also love herons, and failing, I decided to go the blg route. Who says a blog post can’t be something for a picture book?
So, here ya go with the cover boy
Is it just me, or does he look pissed?
So, he’ll just wave you away!
Is there anything more elegant than one of these birds in flight?
And as they search for fish, they’re at their most serious. Seeming still, they’re always moving. Check out that leg.
Again in flight
Ya loved me for my body, didn’t cha?
Makes ya wonder why God chose storks to deliver babies. Well. Storks are way less cool than herons, even though they’re closely related. Can you imagine that face above bothered with a bundle of baby? Sounds like a fantasy story: superhero to me delivered by a Great Blue. Talk about high expectations!
Till then, enjoy your time in the woods and treasure those moments when a Great Blue flies across your sky.
Bob Ike's blog 