new raspberry; �HATES technological I am sick to death of erectile dysfunction, pass the tampons please |
Walloon Writer's Retreat I fancy myself a writer... The 5th annual Walloon Writer�s Retreat took place September 25th � 28th this year at Michigania, the U of M alumni retreat. I stayed offsite at The Walloon Lake Inn in the village. The rooms were comfortable, cozy, and the food in the restaurant downstairs was absolutely divine. I believe I will return in the same manner next year. It�s not that the food at Michigania wasn�t good, it was excellent, but I love my comforts and the cabins are definitely rustic at Michigania. I had the whole inn to myself so I could be as noisy or quiet as I chose to be. It was wonderful to see how many people I remembered from last year. A couple of the more colorful characters were missing, but many of the people that stood out in my mind from last year returned. I was so grateful that Mary was there again this year. She had left early last year in poor health. She looked wonderful, healthy, and if the manuscript I saw is any indication, she�s had a very productive year. She bailed me when I locked the keys in the rental car. The rental company was no help getting anyone to come out to the middle of nowhere to unlock this car and she lent me her van so I could get back to my B & B and give AAA a try in the morning. I should have just gone straight to calling AAA first thing as the next morning they made it to my car and had it unlocked before I could drive from the Inn to Michigania. I bought Joyce�s latest book, The Usual Rules and had it autographed; The Book of Ruth, by Jane Hamilton; and of course I had to get John Lamb�s CD, A Novel Day. John is the guy who puts together the writer�s retreat. He�s an author and a musician. The CD is a rocker and I enjoy it very much. He also does a retreat for songwriters. I enjoyed a walk along the lakeside path by the Inn. It runs right through people�s yards along the shoreline and every house does something a little bit different with �their� section of the path. All they ask is that you keep to the path; don�t wander onto their docks or decks. It�s amazing that so many homeowners cooperate to keep it enjoyable rather than throw up fences and forbid you to cross their land. The shoreline is flat where the path begins in the village, but a couple of miles out, the shore is very steep and people have these little personal funiculars to take them from their houses on the bluff down to their docks and beaches. The houses range from rustic cabins to over-built moderns and here and there you can spot the house of someone who would probably rather have a fenced yard rather than strangers wandering past their porch everyday, but they are few and far between. There was one house where grandma came out to tell me about the rocks I was inspecting along their part of the path. They were painted with colorful scenes and fish and animals. She said her grandchildren paint rocks every summer and sell them along with lemonade at a stand they set up in the yard by the path. Farther down the path I would occasionally pass a house with one of the painted rocks displayed in the yard. Another day, Mary and Lisa and I went up to Petoskey and Little Traverse Bay. Lake Michigan was beautiful. We stopped to shop at a shop with lots of bird feeders and handmade furniture and pottery. We spent some time at a park along the shore and finished off with a stop at a nursery to get bulbs to plant back home to remind us of our trip to the retreat. [Wamego happens to be famous for it�s Tulips. We have a big Tulip Festival every April so I brought back tulips to plant in the yard. And I need to get them in the ground this week otherwise they won�t bloom next spring.] It rained the entire time I was at Walloon. Light rain during the day, heavier at night. Just heavy enough to put you straight to sleep when your head hits the pillow and light enough during the day so that you could move about and not get soaked. I wrote my first �official� poem, an ode to roadside service. Maybe next year when I return I will have a manuscript for Joyce to critique. Oh, did I mention that once again the place was positively crawling with lesbians�
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