The blog about a dog. The life and times of Mavis Schutte.

 Nine years ago, and change, an amazing thing happened. I was suckered into taking in a dog. The amazing part was, well, that I was tricked. Scratch that. Truth be known, I’m afraid of my wife, so, begrudgingly, I let it happen. Let's face facts. Nothing happens in our home without my wife's say so. (And my tacit approval. My vote is pre-ordained, and merely a formality.)

A year earlier, our beloved, allergy-ridden, dumb-as-a-box-of-rocks, Labrador had passed away. Opus. The canine by which all others would be judged. Opus was our gold standard in the pooch procurement category.

That being said, I was played. By my wife! By a friend! And lastly, by a dog. Her name was Mavis, and she waltzed right in, and stole our hearts. Well, stole Katy’s, maybe. My heart was a stone. I had no reason to take in a dog I hadn’t chosen.

Of course, that was of no concern to anyone but me. I am a good soldier. Did I mention my wife scares me? So, without anymore discussion, it was decided. We were going to foster a dog. My wife should be Speaker of the House! Oh, wait a minute. Technically, she is!

The back story of our ‘foster’ pooch was sad, but true. Abuse. And abandonment. Those two things that should never happen to children, those who cannot defend themselves, and animals. What was done to our soon-to-be-adopted pooch, shouldn’t happen to, well, a dog.

Mavis came under the watchful eye of the good folks at the Copper Country Humane Society when she was found chained to a tree on their property. Mavis, not one to be tied down, promptly escaped and led them on a merry chase up and down US 41, weaving in and out of traffic, daring anyone to catch her.

Several hours later, having burned off enough energy to light Mid-town Manhattan, she finally found her way back to the kennel, allowing herself to be caught. Those trying to catch her, and keep her from causing a pile-up on US 41, may have looked upon that a wee bit differently. Not, I'm sure, what anyone had it mind when they had their first cup of java in the morning, whilst planning their day.

Mavis, I'm sure, felt the same way.

Immediately she switched gears and began to give birth to a small army of adorable puppies, and settled into being a stay-at-kennel mom. She and her brood were transferred to the North Woods Pet Lodge, where they would begin a new life, free of cruelty. Unfortunately, Mavis was as weak as her puppies, and they needed to be weaned early, so mom could regain her strength.

That's where we came into the story.

When our beloved pooch, Opus, was running our lives, he was kennelled at the North Woods Pet Lodge. Yes, the very same kennel. The kennel where Mavis and her pups were shacked up. The owners, Lynn and Darren, shot Katy an email, relaying the situation. She asked if we were interested in either fostering her, or taking the plunge and adopting her. We had mourned Opus for a year. Perhaps it was time.

That thought, by the way, was the argument made for adoption. By one of the few women I believed, wrongly, I could say no to. Then it was reinforced by another woman I can't say no to. Mom. I was outmanoeuvred before I knew I had the right of first refusal. (I've been told many times, for various reasons, that I can always say no. Of course, that's meaningless when my mind has been made up for me!)

After being thoroughly brow-beaten, in the nicest possible way, into accepting the inevitable, we began preparing for the the newest addition to our fur-family. That included buying dog food, preparing an area where she could curl up and sleep, and hopefully, feel safe.

Naturally, the cats would not be informed of our decision until Mavis bounded through the front door, anxious to meet her new sisters. Needless to say, Pinky and Crab E. had the same right of refusal I had. But, in my favour, there was the small amount of joy I would receive after seeing their freaked out expressions, as they tucked tail and ran. I did sleep with one eye open for about a week, but it was worth it!

The day did come, and we picked up Mavis up at North Woods Pet Lodge. Where Lynn, owner, proprietor, and notorious animal lover, was boarding Mavis and her pups. It was there that Mavis would nurse her wee babies (who were no longer 'wee', at this stage of the game), under the watchful eye of Lynn and her small entourage of permanent four-legged homies. This small, but tight-knit group became the closest thing Mavis would have to family, until we arrived.

The adoption went smoothly, even over the loud objection of the cats. Mavis only bolted for the woods behind the house once, that during her her first day home. I'm pretty certain the cats had something to do with that, can't be 100 percent certain though.

And that's how a slightly neurotic, jumpy, paranoid, black lab came to be part of our lives.

For nine years, Mavis was a fixture in our happy home. We always knew when someone was coming down the driveway, or walking along the roadside. When the neighbour girls came to sell pizza kits and Girl Scout cookies to raise money, or come to trick or treat, Mavis stood guard. And barked, and barked and barked. At one point, she was simply known by the kids as "barky" dog. Did I mention she despised the UPS man? Yep, hated him.

Unfortunately, time took it's toll on our big, beloved lab. She was most likely four or five when we took her in. So, by the time she moved on to that big kennel in the sky, she was close to 13 years old, or more! Not bad. Not bad at all. But the time had come to let her go.

And so it came to pass, that Mavis left us.

I was ill-prepared. She not only outlived two cats, she indoctrinated two more into our household before she passed. Critters, large and small, now walk through our yard without impunity, knowing there is no one to challenge them. Cars and people whiz and walk by, without my ever knowing.

The silence is deafening.

Blogger's note: Charlie, one of Mavis' pups, is living a healthy and happy life with the parents of the notorious kennel owner!-js

Time start posting again! Next up one blah x 3 and a pie recipe. Yum!

Farewell, Neil Armstrong 

President Kennedy, in his 1961 inaugural address, announced, "...I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth."

Even though the original intent was to beat the Russians to the moon, and ascend to the top of the heap in terms of cold war achievements, there is possibly no greater historical moment in U.S. history than July 20, 1969. In one iconic, single step, Neil Armstrong became the quintessential American hero. 

I was all of ten years old. 

To a ten year-old, the space race was pretty heady stuff. Living in the Upper Peninsula, Cape Canaveral (then Cape Kennedy), was a world away. Thank goodness for television and Walter Cronkite. 

My dad, rest his soul, was one of those people that had to have the newest gadget the moment they hit the store shelves, or as soon as economically possible. In July 1969 we gathered in our so-called 'tv room', now a dark-paneled space, graced with an equally dark-finished wooden floor to watch history be made. 

Back then the room was more open and painted in light hues. Entombed within was a beautiful, well-polished, electronic beast. An Admiral Color TV. (Which actually debuted in 1966, but these things don't just pay for themselves, ya know.) 

It was a monster console housing a 25" diagonal color tv tube. With it's walnut veneer, it  was a nut-buster, if not moved by two or more people going no further than a foot at a time. To avoid an unintended medical condition. It was 1960's state-of-the art, with its tuning knobs hidden within the new technological wonder known then as the 'tilt-out control center'.

The stage was set. The lift-off was in beautiful technicolor, the actual landing of the LEM was disappointingly in black and white. Which at the time, no one but me could have cared less about. (I didn't understand the complexities of broadcasting in color. Thankfully, unlike HD, color was free, when available.)

Finally, on July 20, 1969 we watched two Americans jump out of the lunar module and conquer the great 'Man-in-the-Moon'. I was totally in awe. 

For many adults, whether in black and white, or color, the final outcome was assured. Planting the American flag on the moon first was all that mattered. We beat the Russians to the moon. 

Back then our adversaries were more commonly known as the Soviets and/or Russkies/Commies/the red menace. The list goes on and on. Of course with their new-found entrepreneurial skills, we're now asking them for rides into space. At a premium, no less. But I digress.

Being a boy just short of 11 years of age, I didn't share the same definition of success as my elders did. We landed on the moon fer cryin' out loud. How cool was that? And it wasn't made of cheese! Who cares about the Russians? They lived further away from Florida than I did. 

That week in 1969, the nation, including my entire neighborhood, sat spell-bound in front of the tv, waiting for venerated newsman Walter Cronkite, to countdown the lift-off of the Saturn V rocket. Then came the the pairing of the Lunar Module and the Command Service Module. Success. 

Finally, as we all watched breathlessly, the LM descended to the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong, placing one boot on the moon, made the now famous proclamation, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind".

Those words, and that achievement, have stayed with me since. Unfortunately, the man declaring it, has not. Neil "Buzz" Armstrong has left this earthly plane. He flys now with the angels and saints. His achievement will always be remembered.

Safe travels, Buzz.

Neil 'Buzz' Armstrong, 1969 and Beyond!

President Kennedy, in his 1961 inaugural address, announced, "...I believe that this nation should commit itself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the earth."

Even though the original intent was to beat the Russians to the moon, and ascend to the top of the heap in terms of cold war achievements, there is possibly no greater historical moment in U.S. history than July 20, 1969. In one iconic, single step, Neil Armstrong became the quintessential American hero. 

I was all of ten-years-old.

To a ten-year-old, the space race was pretty heady stuff. Living in the Upper Peninsula, Cape Canaveral (then Cape Kennedy), was a world away. Thank goodness for television and Walter Cronkite.

My dad, rest his soul, was one of those people that had to have the newest gadget the moment they hit the store shelves, or as soon as economically possible. In July 1969 we gathered in our so-called 'tv room', now a dark-paneled space, graced with an equally dark-finished wooden floor to watch history be made.

Back then the room was more open and painted in light hues. Within it was entombed a beautiful, well-polished, electronic beast. An Admiral Color TV. (Which actually debuted in 1966, but these things don't just pay for themselves, ya know.)

It was a monster console housing a 25" diagonal color tv tube. With it's walnut veneer, it  was a nut-buster, if not moved by two or more people. Going no further than a foot at a time avoided an unintended medical condition. It was 1960's state-of-the art, with its tuning knobs hidden within the new technological wonder known then as the 'tilt-out control center'.

The stage was set. The lift-off was in beautiful technicolor. The actual landing of the LEM was disappointingly in black and white. Which at the time, no one but me could have cared less about. (I didn't understand the complexities of broadcasting in color. Thankfully, unlike HD, color was free, where available.)

Finally, on July 20, 1969 we watched two Americans jump out of the lunar module and conquer the great 'Man-in-the-Moon'. I was totally in awe.

For many adults, whether in black and white, or color, the final outcome was assured. Planting the American flag on the moon first was all that mattered. We beat the Russians to the moon.

Back then our adversaries were more commonly known as the Soviets and/or Russkies/Commies/the red menace. The list goes on and on. Of course with their new-found entrepreneurial skills, we're now asking them for rides into space. At a premium, no less. But I digress.

Being a boy just short of 11 years-of-age, I didn't share the same definition of success my elders did. We landed on the moon fer cryin' out loud. How cool was that? And it wasn't made of cheese! Who cared about the Russians? They lived further away from Florida than I did.

That week in 1969, the nation, including my entire neighborhood, sat spell-bound in front of the tv, waiting for venerated newsman Walter Cronkite, to countdown the lift-off of the Saturn V rocket. Then came the the pairing of the Lunar Module and the Command Service Module. Finally, success!

As we all watched breathlessly, the LM descended to the lunar surface. Neil Armstrong, placing one boot on the moon, made the now famous proclamation, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind".

Those words, and that achievement, have stayed with me since. Unfortunately, the man declaring it, has not. Neil "Buzz" Armstrong has left this earthly plane, just a few short days ago. He flys now with the angels and saints. Here on Earth, as on the moon, his achievement will always be remembered.

Safe travels, Buzz.

The Gun Discussion

So, I guess it’s time to talk about the 800 pound gorilla in the room.

I have been characterized by some as a bleeding heart, flaming leftist liberal. Who knows? But I have discovered something. My thoughts and views about hot-button topics? Well, there's been some movement.

"But Joe", You say. "That can’t be true. You’re so far left, you make the Kennedy’s blush." Well, maybe not that liberal. But I'll give it the old college try.

Here's what I'm getting at.
Has anyone noticed there is very little civilized discourse in the world anymore? There are no real conversations going on. It’s always left against right, pro-this versus anti-that. If one could hear above the screaming, there might be something positive to discuss.

And then there are the tree huggers. But I digress.

Worse yet? While others are screaming, our elected officials, state and national, are not talking to each other.

Why is that?

Simply put, no one wants to give an inch. It’s, "I’m right, and you're not." There can be no middle ground. I see it everyday in politics, religion and who should replace the panel on American Idol.

For example, I was talking at length this weekend with my sister’s husband. Politically, we stand apart. But as we talked we discovered—maybe not so much.

We both have certain expectations of our elected officials. We both want to see this country continue to succeed and continue to be the greatest nation on earth. But we can’t aspire to that lofty perch without being willing to give a little to gain a lot.

Today our state and national politicians are at each other’s throats. One side wants this, and the other wants that. Egging them on are big money lobbyists and PAC’s, political pundits and entire networks. And where there’s money, there’s legislation. Or lack thereof. Oh, and did I mention the ads. They point in the same direction.  There can be no compromise. There will be NO compromise.

And I ask, “Why not?”

Apparently, I am not the only person asking.

Let’s start with guns. Not gun control. Just guns. We have endured another national tragedy in the theatre massacre in Aurora, CO.

The question is asked, “why?” Why do we need AK-47’s and other high velocity weapons? (Be honest, some of you want to stop right here and start howling about the  peacenik, pinko, socialist, with commie leanings, who wants to hand over our freedoms, and then the country, to the first out-of-work dictator with his hand out.)

Read on McDuff.

There are a lot of scared people out there that have never used, or had access to firearms. They aren’t familiar with guns of any kind, and their only real understanding of them comes from the resulting tragedies of Columbine, West Virginia, and now Aurora, CO.

The resulting answer comes from gun enthusiasts who basically go all ballistic on them. Gun-owners fear, rightfully so, that with every nut job that gets together a small armory of high-velocity, assault-style weapons and takes out unarmed, defenseless citizens, they will lose an important and necessary right. The right to bear arms.

I don't think it has to be that way. Nationally, groups such as the NRA, and locally, gun and hunt clubs, need to reach out and educate that part of the population who don’t hunt and don’t understand gun culture. Don’t shove it down their throats. Do it in small steps. Reach out to those willing to listen.

But it is a two-way street. Those who don’t understand have a duty here as well. They need to listen. To be open to understanding what gun ownership is all about. Don’t fear law-abiding gun-owners. They may be the only thing standing between you and surviving the next massacre.

There is going to have to be some movement on both sides to develop laws that allow those who wish to buy, collect and use firearms to do so. At the same time make it difficult for those who would use them to take the easy and violent road to achieve anarchy.

In conclusion:
Gun owners need to understand that some people aren’t ever going to keep, or use guns. I know, it seems wrong on so many levels. But, they're allowed to, same concept, different end of the looking glass. Deal with it.

Those who don't believe in guns, you need to understand. You might not want, or see a need, for firearms in your home. Good for you. Not everyone else shares you view. Deal with it.

Joe's Big Bronchial Mis-Adventure

Once again, I am prompted to speak out on a subject that weighs heavily on my mind. No, not my weight, my health. (Yes, the two are at times interchangeable, but not here.) Perhaps I can keep this discussion brief, and to the point. Or not? Since we all know that’s a near impossibility, take a few moments, grab a cuppa and I’ll wait for you here.

Some days I am my own worst enemy. No, It's true!

As some already know, I was recently hospitalized at our local medical center, the Baraga County Memorial Hospital, and Spa. (I made that last part up, but in a perfect world...).

My unscheduled stay at BCMH wasn't entirely of my own doing. Or choosing. Without really trying, I managed to procure my very own case of pneumonia. As bronchial misadventures go, this was a doozie.

As a typical male in good standing, I made every excuse in the book to avoid a trip to the doctor. It’s fair to say my main concerns were avoidance of all things medical and, without putting too fine a point on it, a lack of health insurance.

Let’s face it. Money’s tight. And I know ours isn’t the only household facing this choice. One big medical bill and our economic house of cards will collapse. For good, or not, this choice was made for me. Not by me.

Here’s how it went down

For many weeks I suffered a nagging cough, and an inability to draw in a breath deeper than a paper cut. I was at the point where I might have to declare defeat in the management of my own healthcare. Wallowing in self-pity, and producing enough phlegm to float a small armada, I finally gave in and admitted to my beloved that I was, in fact, sick.

Which, she of course already knew.

After unwillingly pulling my aching body into the passenger side of the Escape, we coasted down to the weekend clinic. After being poked, prodded, and doused with x-rays, the doctor returned with the good news.

“Mr. Schutte”, the good doctor said, “you are very sick.” He then bandied about some medical jargon and a bit of digital hocus-pocus. With a flourish of his fingers across the keys of his laptop, a script for an antibiotic raced through the ether to the pharmacy. Only then was I was returned to the care of the good nurse Katy.

That turned out to be a huge mistake. For me.

Within eight short hours I was in the emergency room, soaked in my own sweat, feebly trying to convince the doctor, my wife and the attending nurse, that it was all some kind of cosmic mistake. If I could just go home, crawl under the covers and sleep until spring I would be just fine.

Apparently it doesn't work that way.

Somewhere after rolling into, and rolling out of Radiology, I discovered I’d been kidnapped and stuffed into a semi-private room. My arm was taped down to an IV drip. (Note to self, call broker, invest in 3M.) There was no mention of a ransom. (That came later, after I was discharged.) 

It would be unfair at this point not to mention the great care I received during my stay at BCMH. The nursing staff and attending physicians were good friends, as we're the kitchen staff and housekeeping. They all looked out for me.

Later in the game

It’s been many months since that nasty bacterial infection took up housekeeping in my lung.  Without so much as asking permission or paying rent. Not surprisingly, I was not fully recovered from the wee beasties that took up residence there. They refused to be evicted. Eminent domain my ass, maybe I should sic the Supreme Court on ’em.

There was the requisite follow-up after leaving the hospital. I endured a couple more x-rays. (I was starting to glow in the dark). Then, after six weeks supervised release into my wife's care, I was declared relatively cured. The term 'cured' being relative here.

Final diagnosis? The almost three-day stay at the Baraga County Memorial Hospital and Spa, drove home the alarming fact that I’ve become more of an old goat and less a spring chicken.

When did that happen?

Mopping up

After all that, one thing troubles me. Okay, more than one, but this first. Why is it, now that I can’t, or shouldn't, I have this almost primal urge to light up a bourbon-soaked stogie?

Perhaps for very same reason I craved a large meat-lovers pizza with extra cheese during my entire stay at BCMH. Which, by the way, clashed horribly with the heart-healthy diet prescribed by, and don’t quote me, the attending ER physician. (With sign-off by my wife, I'm sure.) The same wife who conspired with the doctor to admit me, while I was unable to make important and possibly life-altering medical decisions for myself.

That’ll learn me!

Note: I have made financial arrangements with the hospital regarding my stay (as well as other  past due bills for tests, etc.). However, another stay, for any length, for any reason, without proper health coverage, will be devastating. Financially, or otherwise. I'm just saying. - js

Joe's life and this blog will be changing dramatically! Check back soon to find out why and how!

The 2011 State vs Michigan football fashion mash-up!

It’s that time of year. When everyone dresses up and goes out to scare the pants off of everyone in order to get a treat. Or a trick. How does one accomplish this? Well, some will go high-tech, yet throwback. Others will go retro.

First the throwback.
Let’s see. How does that work? The high tech throwback, I mean. Wait for it. Earlier this year,  Nike announced that the Spartans would be one of nine teams chosen to sport their new “Pro Combat Uniform”.  Kinda cool, I guess. The Spartans debuted theirs during the Michigan State vs Michigan game, Sat., Oct. 15, 2011.

As far as collegiate fashion sense goes, the uniforms are very throwback. Lots of bronze, dark green and black. No white. And when I say throwback I mean ancient Greece and Sparta, with a little classical defiance thrown in for good measure.

Beware, boring classical literature reference...
Sewn into the collars of the MSU football team is the Greek phrase “Molon Labe”. Google it and the phrase translates to “come and take them”, supposedly shouted out by King Leonidas of Sparta to the Persians when they demanded Sparta give up their weapons at the battle of Thermopylae.

I recommend renting the movie ‘300'. To say my wife Katy loved those uniforms is an understatement. She kept mumbling something about Gerard Butler parading around half-naked? I make no judgement regarding it’s validity.

Let’s not forget the strong carbon plate Nike has incorporated into the uniform which “symbolically mirrors the Spartan shield”. Ya want symbols? How ‘bout a big, fat white “S” smack in the middle of a green jersey.

For the tragically uninformed, let it be known I have no fashion sense whatsoever (sweats with a good tee or sweatshirt rules the day). I’m certainly no fashionista, but frankly, I like my Spartans decked out in plain ol’ Green and White. I’m just funny that way. (Can you say, “Old fart who doesn’t suffer change well?”) Repeat after me...

Now the retro. Anything you can do...
The fashion report aside, rival Michigan felt the necessity to parade themselves pre-game in their ususal uniforms on Saturday, only to leave and return to the field in a pseudo-retro 1970's all-white travel garb. Frankly, I can’t see too many reasons why I would want to return to the mid-seventies for much of anything, let-alone rehash such fashion faux pas as two-toned men’s platform shoes, feathered-back hair and earth-tones. (Me, not the Wolverines.) Throw in Nixon and it wasn’t our finest hour. Nor mine, fashionably speaking, that is.

All that being said, the Spartan uniforms will supposedly only be worn that one time against Michigan. Even better? Michigan’s loss Saturday was the fourth in a row to the Spartans, leaving Michigan’s graduating seniors with the dubious distinction of not beating the Spartans during their four-year tenure.

Bottom line.
This game wasn’t about new uniforms--or old ones. As Spartan fans and alumni we all know that Michigan doesn’t hold this particular rivalry in the same reverence we do. Ohio State gives them greater pause.

The Wolverines consider the Spartans as one regards a little brother. Someone who needs to be knocked down a peg or two. Why? For no other reason than it’s their job as the older sibling. Guess what? The Spartans are all grown up now. So is this rivalry.

“We are Sparta(ns)!” Deal with it!

Gay Marriage. Straight Marriage. Why Misery Loves Company!

The great State of New York recently passed legislation allowing gay and lesbian couples the same access to mutual misery that straight couples have possessed for quite some time.

That’s right! I am speaking of the opportunity to marry the person you knocked up, were betrothed to in the womb, or got drunk with and proposed to in Vegas (it really doesn’t stay in Vegas, you know that, right?) Or, as in my case, the person I fell head over heels in love with. My little sister set me up fearing I might actually follow through on a vague threat to join the priesthood.

And if that love of your life happens to have the same working parts in their nether regions that you do, all the merrier! Marry 'em. (This offer good only in the states of New York, Connecticut, New Hampshire, Iowa, Massachusetts, Vermont and D.C. Offer void when contested by bigoted, wealthy Christian denominations with more money than compassion and an energized faithful consisting of homo-phobes and the unenlightened willing to do their dirty work).

But I digress.

Bottom line:
Here’s what the church and the so-called tolerant want of their token gays. Be abstinent. Be silent. And don’t be seen. And maybe, just maybe, we’ll tolerate your presence within the congregation. But most likely not. But we still love you, and don’t let the cathedral door hit you in the ass on your way out. Love ya!

Arguments that gay marriage will single-handedly bring down the institution of marriage and destroy the family are baseless and provocative–and not in a good way. Heterosexuals are doing just fine destroying the estate of marriage, and the family as a whole.

Abusive husbands and absent fathers didn’t materialize over the ages because Elton John is gay. Unfortunately, in many cases the aforementioned are protected by the state and the church. Believe what you want, but children don’t end up in foster care and group homes because a lesbian couple in Connecticut wants to marry.

Opponents to gay marriage argue the LGBT (lesbian, gay, bi-sexual and trans-gendered) community is somehow deviant and evil and will lead to the downfall of civilization as we know it, or the return of leisure suits as a fashion statement--whichever keeps you up at night. I get night-sweats just thinking of the latter. Armageddon is a myth, polyester ain’t.

I have friends and family within the gay community who are neither deviant or evil. Unless you  include the family cat. And as for those people that truly fall into the category of deviant and/or evil? Please, don’t get me started.. That’s a whole ’nother column.
                          
Love is love, people. Whether it’s between two consenting adults of the opposite sex, same sex, or me and a pizza with double cheese, it will not be stopped. That’s what love is. It knows no boundaries and answers only to those it has chosen.

Go ahead, quote me!
There are many who like to cut and paste passages of the Bible to make a point. I’m not a fan.

But we Christians are taught that God has given her* children many gifts and through her Son asks this in return: First, love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. Second, love your neighbor as yourself.

If you can’t love your child, friend, or even a passer-by who is gay, then dude, you have some serious self-loathing issues.

You love your child right?  Ok, maybe not all the time. But more so, than not. Anyway, would you love your child any less if they came to you and said they were gay or lesbian?  You may not approve of their “choice” but isn’t that what unconditional love is?      

No one should have to prove that being gay or lesbian isn’t an illness, or a choice. Although, even in today’s so-called enlightenment, many must choose to stay closeted for fear of their safety, loss of a families love (for if there is no love if there can be no acceptance), job loss, the list goes on.

Some argue that gays and lesbians ‘opt in’ to a lifestyle. It’s not a choice and it’s not a lifestyle. The choice is either live a lie, or lie to live. From my vantage point that kinda sucks. Not everyone is brave enough to live their lives openly gay.

Three cheers!
Thank you to Ellen DeGeneres, Rachel Maddow, Neil Patrick Harris, Russell T. Davies (Dr. Who fans will know), Anderson Cooper, as well as many others, for putting themselves out there, in the forefront, giving a face to what it is to be gay. Guess what? Looks pretty much like everyone else. So deal with it!

As a people, a nation, we shouldn’t have to legislate equality. Nor should our government be legislating morality. Yet after 230-some years, here we are. All equal under the eyes of law? Many would disagree, and rightfully so. Writing it down and voting on it doesn’t necessarily make it so.

I cannot, and will not quote polls to make my point. Anyone can do that. There are polls all over the internet skewed to any argument, about anything, you want to make. I will not invoke the wrath of God, her so-called faithful have cornered that market.

When I discuss gay marriage, DADT (Don’t Ask Don’t Tell), gays raising children no one else will take (because they talk back and don’t and have that new baby smell) with friends and relatives most of us agree that we’re okay with gay marriage, and gays in the military, and deep-fried Twinkies. I acknowledge others don’t. That’s a shame. For them.

We the Peeps!
The state and federal governments and those parties in power who fail to listen to their constituents apparently didn’t get the memo. We the People can think, and make informed decisions, in the bedroom and outside of it, for ourselves, without regret. Let us.

*Her, him, it, whatever. I think God’s pretty cool with just getting a shout-out in this day and age. - js

Blah, blah, blah

The Reality of Reality Television

In the world of television, a season has just passed, and another approaches. That’s right, while one batch of reality shows has come to their inevitable conclusion, another group steps in to fill the void.

Reality tv comes in a cornucopia of malevolent flavors including searching for the perfect mate, hanging with the friends your mother hates, chronicling the cheating mate (husband, wife or significant other, it’s a varied menu) and hanging with the queens (drag queens, royal weddings, whatever). Nothing is off limits if it’s on cable.

The word ‘reality’ is defined by the Miriam Webster online dictionary as: the quality or state of being real: television programming that features videos of actual occurrences (as a police chase, stunt, or natural disaster) —often used attributively .

So, reality television. It’s swiftly become a part of the modern television lexicon. Be it network or cable, a large portion of what is being regularly programmed over the airwaves, or beamed down from the fringes of the atmosphere comes to us as reality tv. And like it or not, it is here to stay.

What’s the bottom line?
Is reality tv just a portrayal of life as it happens, such as those events mentioned in the Miriam Webster definition? Or a money-making stunt for both players and networks?

Does the video chronicling of a living macrocosm, in some instances populated by the insular lives of idiotic misfits and cretins; so lacking in modesty, common sense and decency; allow it to be formally accepted as life as we know it?

Or, is each episode a portrayal of a life so far removed from reality that to call it so is nothing more than a misnomer? To be viewed as some convoluted form of modern day comic opera? Which, to say the least, is an unfair comparison to the accepted parameters of what is known as comic opera.

In other words, does watching The Bachelor, and then discussing it around the office water cooler, give it an air of legitimacy usually reserved for natural disasters and the NFL draft?

NO. A thousand times, no.

That’s a lot of hyphens!
Just because a television show is “unscripted” and craftily edited, chronicling the day-to-day comings and goings of a group of fun-loving, ethno-centric, beer-guzzling, up-chucking, chain-smoking, name-calling, hair-pulling, foul-mouthed twenty-somethings, or housewives, (or whatever the “it” demographic happens to be at the time), doesn’t make it reality.

Or right.

So let’s stop referring to it as reality television and call it what it really is, entertainment. Nope. That’s not the right word either. It’s more than a word. I’ve got it! Call it a guilty pleasure. That’s a little closer to, well, reality. I guess.

My guilty pleasure? Last Cake Standing. So what does that say about me? Oh, hell. Forget I even brought it up!


                              

Life is Like

LIFE IS LIKE…DEM THAR CLOSED DOORS

This bloggage (as I like to call my postings) is mainly about Joe and I so, if your sick of reading about us, you probably wanna stop now. -Katy

The following 'bloggage' is the sole responsibility of my wife. I had no input, accept a comma or two. And those were unsolicited. What can I say? For some reason she loves me. And I her. -Joe

There is old song, sung by Charlie Rich, “Behind Closed Doors”.  A song about love, ok, maybe just sex, definitely sex, definitely.  But is a song of true life long lasting love?

You may be wondering where the hell I’m going to go with this but it’s a follow up on Joe’s mental health blog.

Unfortunately life is very different behind the closed doors at the house on Herman Hill.

In 2008 I was diagnosed with Bi-Polar II.  Believe me the last thing I wanted to add, to my already too long mental illnesses, was another one.

In my case, my Bi-Polar II has more lows than ‘highs’.  

Some people experience very high highs and at times I wish I did.  At least the house would be clean! My lows are added to my major depression which doesn’t make a great combination, believe me.

A lot of people may find it hard to believe I am depressed.  I put on a good front, until I get behind our closed door.

I don’t know what I ever did to deserve Joe (but I’m not complaining), a lesser man would have packed his bags a long time ago.  Perhaps the cost of filing for divorce costs too much but whatever the case, I know that what we have is special.  And Joe is a very special person (I don’t mean short-bus special either).

When all my meds are working as they should be life is great in the Schutte house.  Unfortunately I’m (actually we) are going through a time when the meds are not working to their fullest.  Not by a long shot.

Even before my lay-off (January 1^st) my depression wasn’t completely under control.  But since then it has gotten much worse, much worse.  Said lay-off is scheduled for 6 months, but with things the way they are these days who knows if my job will be available then.

That’s not what I’m worried about. I know that the Lord will take care of us and will bring something better.  I love my job in Alberta and would love to go back July 1^st.  But as I said, who knows if it will be available.

As it stands now

I’ve isolated myself from all family and friends.  My only scheduled outing is on Saturday to visit and clean at my Mom’s.  Joe does his best trying to get me into the great outdoors, even if it’s just for a ride.  So far this year he hasn’t had a good track record.

I’ve always been great at hiding how I really feel when in public.  In fact the first time I a spent a week long ‘vacation’ in the luxurious Marquette General Stress and Depression Unit more than just a few people thought I was actually a nurse (they obviously wear normal clothes)!  To say that I was a total mess in my head would be the understatement of the decade. 

But behind the closed door of my ‘suite’ (I’m sure you get the sarcasm by now) my depression had me in a very tight choke-hold.  Thankfully I received great care, especially from my Doctor who fixed me up with the right combination of medications to put me back on the right track.

If you see me in public (which, as I said earlier doesn’t happen much now) I still have a smile on my face and look like I don’t have a care in the world.

But behind those closed doors Joe sees how I’m really feeling and believe me it ain’t pretty!

Isolating myself is just one, in the long list, of severe depression symptoms. 

Joe gets the brunt of it. I wish he didn’t but it’s not like I can control it.  I could blame it on the medication not working, or it not being the proper combination. Either way, life at the moment is what it is, and it doesn’t really matter what I blame it on.

Joe is, and has always been, steadfast by my side 150% actually. No matter if I’m at my lowest or feeling great.  I am truly blessed.  And I’m not sucking up to him because I want something, either (but I should get a few extra brownie points).

When I say my prayers, the very first thing I do is thank the good Lord for bringing (and keeping) Joe in my life.  He is the biggest blessing I have. Even if I won the lotto.  Even if I won the biggest payout ever.  Ah, maybe that’s what he’s waiting for, after all he would get 50% of it. I like to think that isn’t the case we’ll have to wait and see, guess.

Told ya so!

See, I told you this was going to be more about us than you probably wanna read!

I guess in short (some 944 words later) the bottom line is: I know that he will always be the branch I’m holding onto.  Remember the cat hanging on just by it’s paws. You know, the ‘Hang In There’ poster.  He’s always been my branch when I need him to be.  Even if I’m just hanging on by a claw or two.  Between him, and Jesus carrying me when I can’t walk on my own, I’m not only blessed beyond words but an extremely lucky woman.  I hope you are too. (Feel free to change woman to man when reading this, if that is more appropriate).

Katy Manning Schutte

Blah, blah, blah

Bipolar II - Outed by Catherine Zeta-Jones

First, let me say I am not ungrateful. Nor do I hold any animosity toward Oscar-winning actress Catherine Zeta-Jones. As a matter of fact, I applaud her for allowing her battle with Bipolar II to be made public.

Shortly after Ms. Zeta-Jones announced her battle, ex-Disney child star Demi Lovato (Sonny with a Chance) recalled her three month stay in a residential treatment center, where, during treatment, she discovered some of her past actions could be directly related to being bipolar. She has spoken openly about it in an upcoming People magazine interview.

So, what is that annoys me? Simple. That it takes Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lovato to suffer from the disease, in order for it to be discussed openly. Hopefully bringing about education and understanding of the disease for those that don’t understand it. As well as for those who are living with it.

I have said this before and I will say it again, “Mental illness is the bastard child of healthcare”.

But she’s not famous.
My wife is one of those unsung sufferers of mental illness. The psychiatrist, who treated her after her first visit to the Marquette General Behavioral Health Adult Psychiatric Unit in 1998, discussed with us that Katy suffered from a condition being bandied about at the time as 'Bipolar II'.

She explained that the concept of the long-held standard of the bipolar diagnosis was sort of heavy-handed. That there was a growing school of psychiatrists, psychologists and therapists who believed there were certain degrees of bipolar disease.

For those in the business of treating mental illness, Bipolar II represented a tier of the disease which presented itself with the ups and downs of the manic/depressive pattern, but showing more regular and shorter highs and lows than the normally accepted Bipolar disease demonstrated. It is important to remember I am not a doctor (but I play one in the bedroom) and am relaying to you the explanation of the disease as I remember it.

In denial.
Sure, everyone knows it’s out there. Mental illness, oooooohhhh scary. But no one really wants to own up to it. The people needing the most help are the ones who can’t, don’t or won’t get it. Those patients needing the new medications (broadcast ad nauseum everywhere), therapy and hospitalization are those who can’t afford it, don’t know about it or their insurance covers just enough to make it an economic hardship.

And lets be truthful, the almighty dollar, or lack thereof, is a driving force when individuals and families are making decisions on getting care, finding therapists and filling much-needed  prescriptions. The decision made oft times is, simply put, going without.

Anecdotal, but true.
Why do I know this? A better question would be, “How do I know this”. Because I’ve been there. On the front line. Supporting my wife. Who, for 20-plus years, has been battling against a foe that knows no boundaries. It’s important to remember, mental illness crosses over all the lines. Class. Economic. Age. Race. Gender.

Most importantly, mental illness doesn’t care if you have good insurance or not.

With the flood of commercials hitting the airwaves and pages of newspapers and magazines touting new medications to combat mental illness, the lion’s share of the those needing such medications and treatment never get them. Without access to good insurance, especially with a low co-pay prescription rider, it’s hard to scrape together the 250 to 400 dollars necessary for the newest anti-depressants hitting the market.

Remember, these drugs, unlike antibiotics, may be necessary for months, even years to be effective in the treatment of mental illness. Even the generic drugs can be out of reach for many sufferers, particularly if many are prescribed at the same time.

No one should suffer from mental illness, diabetes, cancer or any number of diseases, without support. No one should be left behind when they can’t afford their care. But it happens. Every day. But I digress.

Mental health needs a check-up.

Where we stand today.
Sufferers today need access to more psychiatrists. Psychiatrists who aren’t seeing a client list of several hundred patients. Doctors whose limited quality time is spent prescribing medications without the benefit of a lengthy, honest discussion with their patients about the progression of their illness.

In Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, where my wife and I live, there are but a handful of psychiatrists available to a population of approximately 300,000, spread across an area of 16,500 square miles. Most of these doctor’s are centrally located in Marquette, MI which is 72 miles east of where we live.

These mental illness practitioners must rely on the notes of therapists and psychologists who forward their observations in the hope the doctor will actually have time to pore over them before meeting the patient and prescribing said medications.

This needs to change. How? I don’t know. If we can’t fix health care as it stands today, it will be a moot point. But maybe now, with the openness of high profile personalities Catherine Zeta-Jones and Demi Lovato, a dialog of sorts will begin. But, it needs to be discussed honestly, fairly and compassionately.

As Whoopi Goldberg’s alter ego Fontaine would say, “I’ll buy your bull-shit. How much?”

Blah, blah, blah

WE'RE BACK!

Okay, Katy's back today with a new "Life is Like" column. It's the kind of message that makes one look back upon the hurts in life and wonder, "If it's healing, why do I feel this way?" It's very thought provoking.

Myself, well, that's another story. And I am working on it, and many others. I have spent too much time being introspective and not enough looking forward. It's a work in progress...my life, and my writing. Oh, and don't forget the recipes! Mmmmmm,,,

  

LIFE IS LIKE A SCAB

Everyone has had some kind of scab at least once in their life.

Perhaps it was falling off their bike, getting scratched by their loving cat, you get the picture.

Maybe you put a bandage over it and possibly some antibacterial ointment to help it heal.  Or took your chances and let it heal by itself.

Sometimes scabs happen with an ingrown hair or splinter that is so small that you didn’t even realize it was there.  It festers and you just don’t understand why. 

In those, and other cases, it doesn’t go away.  Sometimes you do have to take the scab off to find out what is causing it.   What really lies beneath causing the ugliness? 

What is it in your life that you need to rip off the scab to get to the bottom so you can heal?  It’s different from person to person, although I’m sure that many have more scabs in common with others than they would have ever guessed.

Mine are many.  Here are just a few:  mental illness, drinking, addictions, selfishness, resentment, unforgiveness…I guess that was more than just a few.  Did you see any of those in yourself?  Please don’t tell me I’m the only one in the world holding onto at least one of those!

As I am writing this many of those still have the scab on them.  Still waiting to be uncovered so the root of the problem can be dealt with.  Waiting for me to rip it off, easier said than done.  Maybe I’m not ready to deal with what lies underneath.  Or maybe I just don’t want to.

God has spoken to me by a feeling I have deep inside, He tells me to trust in Him.  Release my fears, anger and whatever else is holding me back from totally trusting in Him.  Release my “control” and let Him be in the driver’s seat (and not be the backseat driver).  

My husband would be more than happy to tell you that even if I’m sitting beside him as he drives, I’m still a backseat driver.

I probably should have added control issues to the above list, but you have already figured that out by now.

I should take my own advice and take some time to really really look deep down and think and pray about why I don’t rip that scab off.  But then there is life.  We get so caught up in day to day that some things get put on the back burner of life.  Is this the case for you?

Here again, it’s easier said than done taking the time to do it, but they don’t have to be done all at one time.  Nor do they have to be done in a certain amount of time.  Maybe you have given up, you’ve tried before and there isn’t only a scab but also scars underneath.

Think of it as a process.  Work on one scar at a time.  Take your time, there are no time limits.  Listen to what God has put in your heart.  That still strong ‘voice’.  He’ll help you through it.

Once the scab is gone take the time to put that “antibiotic” and “bandage” on it.  You’ll be raw, mentally and perhaps physically as well.  Take the time to let it heal properly before trying to go onto the next one. 

Listen to your heart. Don’t forget, He’ll be there to hold your hand, and carry you when you can’t walk.

Katy Manning Schutte

Blah, Blah, Blah

Tragedy in Arizona

It has taken me three-plus days to digest and understand what has happened in the state of Arizona. And if you don’t know what I am talking about, or haven’t paid close attention to the national news, I envy you.

The loss of life, of any life, to a hail of bullets delivered by a madman plain and simple is indescribable. The shooting of a lawmaker, a judge, a bystander, a child can in no way be justified.

And yet here we are. The death of the innocent painted in blood with the broad brush of intolerance and insanity.

For the past few days pundits and news anchors, bloggers and columnists, as well as everyone else have been struggling to come to terms with this newest bloodshed foisted upon the national landscape. A congresswoman is gunned down in broad daylight and those who work with her or attend the doomed gathering become victims and heroes.

Neither an enviable position to be in.

Can we blame someone’s mental state on someone else's political views? As much as I would like to, I can not. Because rational people don’t finish an argument in gun play. They just don’t. As a nation we should rise above such action. Retaliate with words, whether in patience or anger, but it end it there.

Unfortunately, not everyone is rational. But don’t make the mistake of lumping the mentally ill with those who are, in essence, deranged. It’s not fair to the mentally ill.

The political scene is quite toxic right now. A war of words is engaged between factors from the left, center and the right. There is quite a bit of posturing over the already passed health care bill and animosity toward the president from all sides. Discourse is becoming very heated.

Words have power. Add firearms to the mix and suddenly words become deadly. In a country of over 300 million people and a cherished Bill of Rights, statistically it’s going to happen.

But who is to blame? The right? The left? One deranged person with a gun who can’t tell the difference between (mostly) civil discourse and blatant intolerance? We may never know the whole truth. Nor can we pick and choose half-truths a la carte to satisfy a rush to judgement.

Still, in honor of those injured or killed, in thanks to the brave and heroic, maybe, just maybe, we could dial down the flaming rhetoric. If just for a short while. Even if it wasn’t the cause, there can be effect. Perhaps choosing better symbols to prove, or make, a point for example. At least pretend to listen, even consider, an opposing view before outright belittling it.

The political horizon is fraught with pitfalls. The environment is beyond toxic and it needs to be cleaned up. That toxicity in itself may not kill, but it certainly can poison an already sick mind. Maybe push him or her over the edge into violent insanity. Maybe not.

We can’t know what will trigger the next horrific incident. And there will be one. There always is. What will be the motivating factor? An idea, a thought, a word spit out in anger and hate? Prejudice? Just plain crazy in an all too crazy world?

What is annoying to most may be that which sets off an already deranged or deluded mind into doing the unthinkable. As a nation we can slow that process down, but we will probably never stop it.

But in the name of Abraham Lincoln, Harvey Milk, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and now Gabrielle Giffords, Judge John Roll, Christina Taylor Green, Gabe Zimmerman, Phyllis Schneck, Dorwin Stoddard, and Dorothy Morris, we can, and should, try.


                                              

Blah, blah, blah

Christmas 2010

Christmas. My favorite time of the year.

This year, however, is vastly different than in holiday’s past. Why? Two things stand out for my wife and myself this season. While Christmas is considered a time of giving, my wife and I this year can not. At least not in a material gift-giving sense.

It isn’t because we are unwilling, but because we are unable. The very reason we are unable to give gifts this season has, in fact for us, clarified the spiritual aspect of Christmas. Bringing it that much more into focus.

Give vs Receive
Giving vs receiving. The role each plays during the holiday season is magnified ten-fold when feeling the pinch financially. It doesn’t matter if it’s the loss of a job or an unanticipated decrease in family income by losing one of two or more breadwinners. If there is scarcely enough money for the bare essentials, where is the money coming from for a sleigh-load of presents?

Certainly we would like to be generous in our gift-giving. But not this year. I have no idea how a family of four or five would handle a hard candy Christmas. It makes me shudder just thinking about it.

Children shouldn’t have to wonder if there will be presents under the tree. Or if there will even be a tree.

“Why did Santa forget us this year?” A young child may lament. How does a heart-broken parent explain? It brings a tear to my eye just thinking about it. For some, grandma and grandpa may come through in a pinch. But that is not always the case. 

The last couple of years have been hard financially and emotionally on many people in the United States--and all over the world. Things may be picking up for Wall Street. But, Main Street is still feeling the pinch.

Frankly, I would rather find my Christmas stocking empty than heavy with lumps of coal. Santa knows...
  
But the holidays are not all about presents, parties and bows. Nestled in between Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day is the humble, most solemn holy day of Christmas. The day celebrating the birth of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Katy and I are anticipating a quite Christmas together after visiting with family. The tree is up and decorated. An Eskimo-theme Nativity adorns the breakfast nook. Colored lights are intertwined with faux pine garland draping the bookshelves. Stuffed Snoopy Santas stand side-by-side with Victorian-era Santa figurines on a writing desk. It’s holiday eclectic. I make no apologies.

Here’s the bottom line for us this year: Christmas is coming. Presents optional. And that’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to remember what Christmas is all about. And it’s not us. It’s not expensive presents. It’s not about turkey and all the trimmings. (Actually, that’s kind of a bonus. A small turkey has made its way to our freezer this year. Thanks to sister Liz!)

Merry Christmas vs Happy Holiday(s) Controversy
The holy day of Christmas can be easily separated from the far more commercial entity known as the “holiday” season. Yet, both can co-exist as long as it is understood that they are not co-equals.

Linus Van Pelt said it best when he quoted the Gospel of Luke, verses 8 through 14 from the King James Version:

"'And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace and goodwill towards men (“Or all”, as my wife would say. This is the 21st century!)'"

 "......That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown." Cue commercial.

The holiday season starts with Thanksgiving. Advent begins. Moving on to Hanukkah, it migrates to Winter Solstice,  Kwanza and ends with the New Year. Sandwiched within is Christmas. A season of holidays. Plural.

Celebrate them all. Or none. It’s up to you and your spiritual compass. In our home we try to recognize them all in some small way, but the birth of Christ is most important to us.

And so I finish with wishing you all a Happy Holiday! Because there are many and I don’t feel like ticking them off individually every time I greet someone. It’s too much like work. As we get closer to the ‘day’ I will wish you a Merry Christmas, and finally Happy New Year. It’s a season of holidays. Enjoy them all!

Note: For those who scream to the mountain top about the hijacking of “Christ” in Christmas, he has hasn’t gone anywhere. The Christ in Christmas remains firmly in place. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The only people who see a war on Christmas are those folks decrying that there is a war on Christmas. If someone wishes you a “Happy Holiday” be a good Christian, go ahead and wish them a “Merry Christmas”. They won’t be offended. Neither should you.



                   

Blah, Blah, Blah

A beautiful thing: Kim and Henry tie the knot.

Great things can happen to regular people. Some might pick the winning numbers of the lottery. Another may have a long-forgotten Michelangelo painting hidden behind the couch. Most of us, while we do need money, and who doesn’t, would really just settle for a smidge of happiness.

The greatest path to such happiness is sometimes fairly simple. Often it’s as elementary as finding the perfect ‘Someone’ to enrich their life. The concept of finding Mr. or Ms. Right, of course, is elegantly simple. It’s execution can be somewhat more, shall we say, complicated.

Let’s face it. I’m a sucker for weddings. It’s always fun to see someone else take the plunge, painfully unaware that instead of an Olympic-sized pool waiting below, it’s more like a child’s sand bucket. Minus the water, of course. But plenty of sand.

It’s not that I abhor marriage. Or being married, for that matter. I’m a big fan. Marriage is not for the faint of heart. There is a such a big disconnect between the extolled vision of a future happiness, versus the sometime’s harsh reality of daily togetherness.  

What the hell. They can figure it out for themselves. We did.

Complicated for some, not all
That wasn’t the case a couple of weeks ago when Katy’s niece Kim and her “Mr. Someone” were caught exchanging vows in a beautiful wedding ceremony in Marquette. The bride was beautiful and blushing, the groom exuded pride and faithfulness. All very important qualities when searching for the perfect mate.

Kim found her Mr. Right. Quite honestly, I’m not sure Henry even had a chance. Henry, on the other hand, has in his new bride a wondrous quality. Faith. Faith in God. Faith in the sacrament of marriage and most importantly, faith in her chosen partner. I expect Henry will not disappoint. Right Henry?

Both sides of the aisle celebrated with the bride and groom after a beautiful, sometimes humorous, ceremony before God, their families and friends. The bride was gorgeous, no, stunning in her bridal gown.

He’s a fashion trailblazer!
Sources close to the family tell the story that Henry, given the opportunity to participate fully in the overall planning of the nuptials had but one request. Can you say ‘camo’?

That’s right, we’re talking the cutting edge of Yooper fashion here. Camouflage vests for himself and the groomsmen. Not something you’re likely gonna see on WE tv’s ‘My Fair Wedding’. I expect the look will be all the rage at shotgun weddings everywhere!

After the service, everyone broke away for either pictures, catching up with family or a quick run back into town for some quick shopping before upcoming cocktails, dinner and dancing at Marquette Mountain. (Last time I attended an event there it involved downhill racing, operating a cafeteria tray without a license, and the unfortunate death of tens-of-thousands of innocent brain cells. Not pretty.)

The dinner served was, as some people say, awesome. The spread was premier Yooper wedding fare: cheese and crackers, salad, meatballs, baked beans, ham, rolls, lasagna and some things I’ve probably forgotten. The open bar pulled two kinds of beer–heavy and lite. Who could ask for more? I did. Twice.

The bottom line
I expect this new partnership will fare better than some. Perhaps better than most. Why? This is a marriage, not of convenience or necessity, but of trust and fellowship. Of love. The real deal. It will never diminish. It can only grow.

To Kim and Henry Schwanke: Live long. Love longer. Don’t look back. Look forward, together. ’Nuf said.

Life is Like

Life is Like...Responsibility (Bites)

Last year, I gave Joe a column suggestion. I know this will be hard for all of his readers to believe (especially those that know him personally), but he took the concept and went off in a completely different direction. After reading the first word scribbled on my note “responsibility” he took a left at Albuquerque. Don’t get me wrong, it was definitely funny, and in NO WAY am I dissing his work or think that the following is going to be anywhere near as funny as what you usually read here. But he is in Houghton and I have the laptop and as Paul Harvey would say, "here is the rest of the story".

According to Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary, the word:  young (adjective) is, in part, described as being in the first or an early stage of life, growth, or development.

Now, take a moment, think back to those young carefree days we had as children. Grant it, some were blessed with more than others. Nonetheless, remember those hot summer days?

Going to the beach and making sand castles. Maybe your family didn’t go to the beach much. And your “beach” consisted of a garden hose, and, if you were lucky, a lawn sprinkler. Your only care in the world was that school was going to be starting, and your life as you knew it, was coming to an end. That is unless you actually liked going to school. Na, me either.

Those were the days.

Now jump to your early teen years. Remember that time in your life? Hormones and all? All you wanted to do was be older. After all, you were not an immature young child. You were on the cusp of becoming an immature young adult!

For you, getting older meant being able to date, drive, getting out of your parents house and so on.

The word “old”
Now for a brief description of the word: old (adjective); according to the same dictionary, to mean advanced in years, or age.

Now some of us can remember back. We remember hitting those favorite milestones in our lives, like turning 30 then 40. But that’s where I stop.

Many reading this will laugh, I hope, when they read that and think of me as almost being that carefree child I mentioned earlier. And if that is you, thank you!! Oops, looks like I’m going to be taking that same on-ramp to Albuquerque.

Some readers will remember the milestones further down the road, 60, 70, and maybe 80 or more.  Possibly remembering the times they put diapers on their babies, instead of their “babies” now helping them with their Depends. 

It reminds me of a comedian I once heard “justifying” his smoking by saying that the years that he would lose, would be the “crap in his pants years”.

When we are young, we just don’t understand that we should be enjoying those years. The ones  where we are responsible for nothing. We are just in a big hurry to get older.

The bottom line
As we age, we want to be younger; have energy again. We strive to be able to enjoy the things we used to, without having to take a nap in between.

Then there is the whole responsibility aspect! Remember again, a summer when you were too young to work. What a life! The toughest thing you probably had to do was a few chores.

With being older, come the harsh realities of responsibility. Taking care of your family, house, finances.  Not to mention your job.

And the list goes on and on...

The Mrs. Yooper Blah-Blah-Blah Theory on Aging
When you’re young, you fall, and bounce back up. 
When you’re early middle age, you fall, and look to see if anyone saw you.
When you’re smack dab in the midst of middle age, you take any and all precautionary steps necessary to insure that you do not fall.
When you’re later into middle age, you fall, and pray you don’t hear anything break.

While growing up, I frequently heard a saying from a very wise woman.
               
She would say, “I don’t mind growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.”

That very wise, and old woman, is my mom, Mary Faith Manning.

Remember that when you make that old person grunt sound as you get out of your chair.  Or, when you see a child without a care in the world.

But especially, when you wake up in the morning. Or from a nap, for that matter.

Katy Manning Schutte

Blah, Blah, Blah

Michigan State Spartans meet the BCS

Time is counting down until mid-term elections and I have only one thing on my mind right now. That’s right! The Michigan State Spartan Men’s football team is slated at number five in the most recent BCS rankings.

Personally I’ve never cared much for the BCS. That stands for Bowl Championship Series for those that don’t know. Kinda like WTF stands for ...well I think most people get the gist.

I don’t particularly like how the rankings are compiled. It’s a complicated process that includes three components: USA Today Coaches Poll, Harris Interactive College Football Poll and an average of six computer rankings. Each component will count one-third of a team's overall BCS score in the BCS standings.

Question: Why does a computer have the same clout as a coach when the BCS crunches numbers? Did the Supreme Court have a hand in this? I kid, I kid. Sorta.
   
Then again...
It’s always different when your team is having a Cinderella season. I will stand firmly behind the BCS ranking until it turns against us (as it inevitably will) sweeping away any hope of a shot at the national championship.

Frankly, I’d rather see the Spartans play in the Rose Bowl any day over the BCS Championship.

The Rose Bowl is literally the gold standard of bowl games. The BCS Championship always seems to bring confusion and disarray to the party; specially after the regular season games are played. Without a true playoff system there will always be pretenders to the throne.

Not to mention there is something a bit hinky about a championship whose teams are initially ranked by a couple of football polls and at least one neurotic computer with delusions of grandeur. Can you say HAL 9000? Perhaps, without naming names, I should include some coaches in that category as well.

And yet Michigan State is ranked number five this week. Will wonders never cease?

The Iowa Hawkeyes may have something to say about that. As long as we’re ranked in the top five, everyone with a BCS Championship complex is going to be gunning for us. It is my hope that Coach Dantonio’s gridiron machine can focus its penchant for causing mayhem at frat parties, breaking bad with their terms of probation and reckless driving charges into a continued winning season.

Or not. We’ll just have to see.

Not since 1966, when my aunt Jane and uncle Dave attended MSU have the Spartans had an 8-0 opening to the season. Back then Spartan defensive lineman Bubba Smith, quarterback Jimmy Raye, wide receiver Gene Washington, rover George Webster and barefoot kicker Dick Kenney led State to a 9-0-1 season (the tie being the controversial “Game of the Century” against Notre Dame).

Michigan State and Notre Dame both laid claim to being national champions that year.

Family lore
As a matter of fact, my aunt Jane (my mom’s sister) was living on campus at Michigan State in the same dorm as Bubba Smith. To this day she fondly claims he owes her a minimum of six Marlboro Cigarettes--having bummed them off her in the hallway during an age when smoking was cheap and still socially acceptable. Bubba would ask her for a smoke in a long, drawn-out Texas drawl that couldn’t be refused. How cool was that? 

My Spartan football enthusiasm is cranked all the way to code “Green and White”. To top it off, a couple of weeks ago my beloved wife surprised me with a Michigan State-theme garden gnome, decked out in green and white sporting a big, white Spartan logo on his even bigger green, gnome-y hat.

I have christened him “Sparty-cus, the Gnarly Gnome.” Sparty-cus can be seen daily in the unenviable capacity posing as my new avatar on my Facebook page. (See pic below).

Regardless of how the season plays out, Michgian State has proven itself a force to be reckoned with on the playing field. Finally. Off the field is another matter entirely. There is much work still to be done. The BCS ranking notwithstanding, this team has much to prove. To themselves, their coach and their fans.
                 

Katy's Korner

LIFE IS LIKE…A “STORM”

Sometimes you hear a song for the first time and something really hits home.  Whether it’s just a phrase, a line or two or the whole song.  When I first heard Lifehouse’s “Storm”, well, it wasn’t just a homerun, it was completely out of the ballpark.

The song begins,

“How long have I been in this storm
so overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
water's getting harder to tread
with these waves crashing over my head”

How many times have you felt that way?  Perhaps you feel that way now.

The word ‘storm’ can mean so many different things I guess.  We all experience storms in our lives in many different forms. 

Right now a perfect storm has settled over the Schutte house. 

Hurricanes, tropical storms, etc. are given a persons first name. Ours doesn’t sport a name.  We refer to it as a ‘Shit Storm’.  It is as powerful as Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina combined.

I’ll spare you the details. Unfortunately too many people are experiencing the same financial problems.

Hopefully we have passed the eye of the storm.  Still not out of it, but we’re that much closer seeing the sunlight again.  Only God knows, but I’m certainly praying that we’ll be seeing the sun again soon!

He has been helping us tremendously, thru generous family members and offers of ‘if there is anything you need’ from family we know are barely making ends meet themselves.  We would like to take this time to thank them. (You know who you are). 

God is also chipping in with “simple” things.  A new razor found; (Joe was using the cheap ones-all you had to do was look at his face to know that-and we needed to purchase better ones).  I broke my food scale (which I use every time I eat a meal) and found one in the “donate” to St. Vinny’s box.  It was the same day as I found the razor, as a matter of fact. 

Even though that may not seem much to some reading this, it is proof He is providing for us.  Guess it’s the whole “Give us our daily bread” thing.  Personally I would prefer if it was longer than just a day.  But, He did have a reason for that and He’d probably get pissed if I tried to change it.  Perhaps that has to do with all that faith and relying on Him, I guess. 

FINALLY BACK TO THE SONG!

“I know you didn't bring me out here to drown

so why am I 10 feet under and upside down
barely surviving has become my purpose
cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface”

Without trying to be a therapist, how does that relate to you?

“I’m so used to living underneath the surface”.  Eight simple words with so many possible meanings.

Life is a struggle, some times more than others.  That’s when we rely more on Him and our faith to get us through.  Easier said than done.

“Living under the surface.”  To me, that phrase means my depression (and the infamous financial concerns as well).  I’m struggling to reach the surface, to see the light.

To others it may mean you are living under the radar.  Hiding.  Maybe from others and/or daily situations and the struggle that entails.

I doubt that there are any two people with the same exact answer.

“If I could just see you

everything would be alright

if I’d see you
this darkness would turn to light”

“and I will walk on water
and you will catch me if I fall
and I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright

and I will walk on water

and you will catch me if I fall

and I will get lost into your eyes

I know everything will be alright

I know everything is alright”

Even with the trouble we are having, God has been providing for the Schutte household. 

Look around.  In what simple ways (that you never noticed) has He been providing for you?

“I know everything will be alright”.  Hold on to that and before you know it “everything is alright”.