Why it is Not Quite Swimming Weather in Michigan

I am one of those people who have a tendency to say yes to someone asking for my help before I actually take into consideration what it is I am agreeing to. This is especially true when one such person who is part of the select few that I consider valuable human beings* asks me to help out. I found myself in such a situation today. A friend of mine, let’s call him Rennis, had asked a while ago if I would help him put in a dock for the summer. Well of course I said yes (it was in February, it seemed like such a long way away). What else would I say? I mean a free chance to go swimming, a day spent with friends, and a slim chance that I may get to steal a few minutes on high speed Internet was enough for me (See “Let’s Talk About Dial-up). What I had not taken into consideration was that in order for the dock to be useful for the season it needed to be in when it was still what we Michiganders would call “chilly.” For those of you that don’t speak Michiganian, “chilly” is somewhere around 62 to 70 degrees. Well, that doesn’t seem so bad does it? Drop it by 5 to 7 degrees (because you are near the water and it is always colder near the water) and then add in about 15 mile an hour winds; this would be windy enough to make you hold tightly to you kite string and tuck a scarf around your ears, but not so blustery as to have to call for your Aunty Em. So you can see that “chilly” in Michigan is “let’s trim the Christmas tree” in California. Today was certainly a chilly day.

We should have been clued in when we looked out the window this morning and decided to wait for the clouds to “burn off” (this is Michiganian for “wait for the clouds to dissipate on their own”**). If it is overcast to begin with, that means that the water has missed a good portion of the morning sun and will be even colder than it could have been. We did not heed Mother Nature’s warning. Have I mentioned that there is no one in Michigan in the month of May that you would like to see in a bathing suit? I will mention it right now: There is no one in Michigan in the month of May that you would want to see in a bathing suit. I know that you are thinking, “I would like to see whats-her (or his)-face in a bathing suit at any time of year.” Not true. Let me illuminate this for you. When it is cold women and men alike hid indoors. There is very little sunlight indoors, and anyone that has spent any amount of time in a cast can tell you that there is a certain sickly paleness that occurs after prolonged lack of sunlight. Add to that the fact that cold people like to be privy to as much warmth as possible so long clothing is worn, and when no one is going to see a woman’s legs what does she do (more often than not)? She will have a tendency to stop shaving them. Likewise, cold people like to go into the same type of hibernation mode that a bear would. We sleep more, we eat more. We appear from our dens after a long winter a less muscly, more lethargic, uncomfortably pale, and the women are generally a little nicked and band-aided (primarily from the waist down) than when the winter months had arrived.

I was one such person. I wedged my added winter poundage into last year’s bathing suit and proceeded to the water. Upon seeing the all too blue yes-it-is-fucking-cold water come upon the horizon I began all too quickly to regret my eagerness to help in the dock putting in endeavor. But I am a person of my word so onward I trucked tugging on my swim trunks for added coverage with a racing stripe of missed hair down the back of my leg. Like every wimp you have ever seen in cold water I tip-toed and squeaked my way into the water. Only unlike most I finally decided to bite the bullet and plunge into the water.  The initial shock of cold nearly sent my lungs out my ass, but I swam on until I hit bottom and collected myself a nice bra full of sand. I realized momentarily that my days of toughing it out polar-bearing*** is probably long since gone. Up I popped from the water only to be greeted by my friends’ looks of awe and one of them screaming “What are you fucking nuts?”

On a good day, yes I am, but I can honestly say that I am one of the first people of the season to leave winter behind me in a sad display of leg kicking and arm flailing. After what felt like 9 months of winter it was good to feel like summer is on its way… even if it meant freezing my ass off to do it.

 

*Don’t panic this is not a diminish-ment of the human race and all of the people that are in it. I know that all life is valuable, everyone has a calling or reason, blah, blah blah. But seriously think about it. You aren’t the fan of everyone either. Also, if you are offended by my offhanded comment and lack of tolerance for a large portion of the population this may not be the blog that you want to read.

**This is also a widely accepted political policy for dealing with global warming.   

***Polar bearing is a strange Michigan custom that consists of cutting a hole in the ice and quickly plunging into and back out of it. Yes, this is a real thing. No we are not wrapped tight up here it is cold for too many months in a row. I am pretty sure that if this were an Olympic even it would be dominated by Michigan polar bears because no one else would be dumb enough to try it.

Nearly 28 going on 82

I am not really sure when it happened, but I am turning into an old lady. I am pretty sure that it began when I got not only one but two cats, and I started treating them more like people than like animals. I actively tried for a long time not to be one of those people that talked about their cats as though they were children. But lets face it, call a spade a spade, and identify them as the super smart mind fucking Jedis that they are that eventually wear you down until you are speaking in ridiculous baby talk to, and about,  your precious poopsies. I am sure that they only make this happen for their own amusement. It must be hilarious to watch a grown human make kissy faces and speak in a language that no one can really understand.

However,  I have to admit that being a crazy cat lady is not the only thing that makes me realize that I may be old beyond my years. I have also began to realize that my body is slowly giving out on me. There was a time when I could do whatever I wanted without consequence, and now if I sleep incorrectly (like with one leg hanging off the lounger while I am face down in the pillow and both hands strait out over my head while trying to get a tan in the yard) my bones creak and crack, and I feel as though I have been hit by a bus*. I never really understood why people complained that their knees hurt or they had a kink in their neck when they had done nothing more then eat Cheetos and watch TV for an entire day, but now if I look to the left too quickly while trying to stand up while working in my flowerbeds it is likely that I will suffer severe whiplash and chronic awfulness disease as a result. Which is accompanied by multiple days of comparing my new owie with anyone how mentions one of their own, and then reliving the event in detail to prove to them that my trauma was way worse and debilitating than theirs.

See my pretty tulips!***

By the way...when the fuck did I get so interested in gardening? Not vegetable gardening, we have done that my whole life that isn't something that I consider a hobby that is survival and hard work, and I am way too cheap to pay those high fluting store prices for salsa in the dead of winter. I am talking about flower gardening. I always find myself thinking of Papa Jimmy (a gruff and surly man with a heart of gold that was a surrogate grandfather for the first part of my life) as I happily watch my colorful whatevers bloom with bated breath: "You can't eat those Goddamn flowers." There is some strange part of me that can spend hours in the dirt cultivating flowers for no other reason than to flaunt it in the face of my flowerless friends. I do this by inviting them over and nonchalantly walking about my yard while things are in bloom waiting for someone to comment on the stunning tulips or lilies or flocks. And if I get none of this I then bait my unsuspecting victim by saying something like, "I can't believe these Peonies made it. It took them 3 years, but they have finally done it." Now that it has been brought the their attention they are forced to comment in an awed and thoughtful manner....or else!
So here I am 28 years old going on 82. I find myself surveying bumps and moles** and talking openly about my creaking bones and forgetfulness (we will talk about that phenomenon in a future post). I can't help but wonder if this is the age that my parents and grandparents started to find these traits in themselves. And if it is, please, please who ever you are that is in charge of this science experiment and sitcom that is life do not let me begin to call things whats-its and whos-its and what-cha-ma-things. I certainly must be too young to be a what-cha-ma-call-it with the thing-a-ma-bob that drives me crazy when Snicklefritz does it.

* Plus the old person skin on my legs never really tans anymore. I can literally lay in the sun for hours and never get the least bit tan. I burn turn red like a lobster in a pot, and then I promptly return to my unhealthy ghostlike state.
** I wonder if I should start a mole journal...note to self.
***Yes, this really is a picture that I took from my garden a couple of days ago. Not only do I grow flowers, talk about growing flowers, and try to get others to enjoy growing flowers as much as I do, I also shamelessly document in photos my beautiful yield because I am one of those weirdos. Besides these pictures make an excellent addition to my photo albums full of pictures of my cats wearing ridiculous head gear and looking less than enthused.