Attending the Golden Apple Awards assembly honoring nephew, Regan, in DePere, Wisconsin, Wednesday morning. The Milligan sisters, who drove down from Iron Mountain, Sargie and I, plus Aunt Chris, from his father's side, represented the family.

March 7, 2014 – Friday

22 degrees/freezing rain – sleet – snow/calm winds

Pentoga Road

I feel as though there ought to be flowers and vegetables already planted in the garden to take advantage of this current downpour of rain; except they’d be buried under three feet of snow.

Goofy weather. I see it was officially -17 here early Thursday morning and am happy to report the forecast high for Sunday is 40 degrees. That’s FORTY ABOVE ZERO. I’m not going to complain. Any mark that registers above freezing is a welcome one.

Wednesday, in Green Bay, was one of the busier ones I’ve had in several years. We began the morning by attending a grade school assembly where Sargie’s nephew, Regan, along with three other team members who teach third grade, were honored for their excellence in teaching. It was "Wacky Wednesday" when the teacher and children dressed... well, wacky.

That's our Regan dressed in the.... orange leggings.

The team even made the local Fox news.

The school invited relatives of the recipients to the assembly, making it quite clear that the whole thing was a surprise. In fact, before the ceremony, we were tucked away in a janitor’s room along with the other recipients’ family members.

Being so stealthy paid off. All the award winners of the coveted Golden Apple were very surprised and we saw Regan wipe away more than one tear.



Later we attended a small, private reception, enjoying coffee, cake, and conversation.  The pictures say it better than I can.

Holly, Jeanne, and Nancy, headed back to the Upper Peninsula while we faced the car south as Sargie drove us to Oshkosh (B’gosh!). She seemed driven by a greater power, a vision of something better to come. I witnessed her eyes becoming glazed and her conversation somewhat animated. We rounded a corner, and there it was, the outlet mall.

Sargie’s the queen of clearance racks and is able to sniff out bargains with bloodhound accuracy. I had to sprint to keep up as we made our way to the first store and am certain Sargie heard the Hallelujah Chorus as we entered.

Baby outfits for .97 each? It was a new grandma’s delight. How about Packers t-shirts for $4.47 each. Uh huh. And the bargains continued. Oh yeah, only at the outlet mall.

It took me about four minutes to peruse the entire store before I made sure Sargie had her cell phone and left in search of guy shops.

Ah, which way, left or right? I struggled to make out the names of the stores, there were so many, so I began walking. After forty-five minutes, I arrived back to where I started. There were two shops that featured man stuff, all clothing, one being an Under Armor outlet. When I entered, all the twenty and thirty-somethings looked up from browsing the skin-tight bargains, obviously wondering what an old, flabby, guy like me would be doing in a store that obviously caters to the young-and-beautiful.

Well, excuse me. I left knowing that in reality, I could probably hike further than most, if not all, of those young and beautiful, gel-haired, perfect, city boys and girls who fancied themselves outdoor athletes. Who needs skin tight underwear anyway? My loose Walmart clearance athletic clothing works just fine, thank you.

I returned to the car and enjoyed an hour or two of sitting in the sun, occasionally reading my Kindle, and possibly, I might have closed my eyes. Outlet mall shopping wasn’t so bad.

Sargie and I were reunited later in the day. She was thrilled at the bargains she found and I watched as the car filled with bag after bag of bargains, purchased for only pennies on the dollar.

We later visited Harbor Freight where I escaped for under $25, a new record for me, and stopped at the mall in Appleton, Wisconsin. I spent more than an hour in a large sporting goods store with quite an impressive back packing/hiking section.

I wanted information on portable water filtration systems. Mine works well, but it’s heavy and I don’t want to carry it the entire length of the Appalachian Trail.

I grabbed one salesman and asked information about an ultra violet system the size of a pen. He wasn’t sure, but could get someone who might know more. She wasn’t so knowledgeable, so called a third person. In the end, I spouted what I’d read off the internet and from one or two hikers with whom I’d talked. That conversation led to another and a fourth person joined us, the manager. In the end, no one knew anything about hiking water filtration systems, but I was offered a job working in their hiking section. I told them if they needed help, they ought to advertise in the Under Armor store where all the young and beautiful outdoor people hang out.

We spent a bit of time with Ashley, Sargie’s niece, her husband, Brent, and of course, our little Brielle. They just acquired a new puppy, a black lab, named Jordy Nelson, (after the Packer’s famous wide receiver.) We talked for well over an hour and I alternated my time between the puppy and Brielle. I wish we lived closer to Ashley and Brent as we enjoy their company so much.

After a quick supper at Denny’s we called it day. I remember crawling into bed, watching a bit of television, and that was it. I’m out of power shopping shape and besides, who can keep up with the queen of clearance racks? I bet the young and beautiful in the Under Armor store couldn’t.

I was up fairly early on Thursday morning and after a quick shower, left Sargie to sleep for a bit while I headed to the lobby of the hotel to sip coffee and grade assignments.

We later made a drive-by trip to Sam’s for household goods, then stopped in Oconto, Wisconsin, to have lunch with Shea, one of Sargie’s sons. Shea recently began a new job at one of the cheese factories in the region and absolutely loves his work. We spent almost an hour chomping burgers and fries and listening while he described his duties, benefits, and opportunities for advancement. It appears like Shea has a golden opportunity and we’re very proud of him.

We pulled into the kennels to pick up Brutus. Our puppy was like an over wound eight-day clock when he saw us. We felt sorry for our little guy as he thought we’d abandoned him, but after CONSTANT contact last evening, when he refused to leave my side, he has resumed his usual place, two feet away from me rather than trying to crawl onto my lap.

Going home!

Yooper Brother Mark called yesterday saying the truck was filled with wood and ready to be brought home from the plant. Sargie took me in before dark and followed me home. I’ll unload the wood in the next day or two when the weather straightens out. I should have enough now to easily make it through the heating and maple syrup season… assuming we have one.

There was a message on the answering machine. I have a doctor’s appointment early Monday morning. I thought it was later this month. Oh Lord, just my luck. I was doing so well with my weight and healthy eating habits until we went on vacation. I can only hope that Wednesday night’s chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, rolls, butter, and dessert has worn off by Monday morning. Certainly I’ll be hiking once or twice a day for the next three days, if nothing else, to make me feel more healthy. I doubt my doctor, who is my age and a long distance athlete, will be fooled.

It’s time to plant pepper and tomato seeds so I’ll be assembling the indoor greenhouse today. Hopefully it will get warm enough this year to plant a garden. I have some seeds of a forty-five day arctic tomato, the same as I used to grow in northern Maine that should ensure we have something round and red to munch on this summer. Last year’s tomato crop didn’t ripen until a week before our first frost. In fact, the entire garden provided pretty slim pickins’ last summer.

I think we’ll start stripping wallpaper in the kitchen later today. It’s going to be a mess, a long ordeal, but unless Sargie or I have a rich uncle we don’t know about, no one else is going to do it.

But then, I’m not surprised.

After all, a man’s work is never done.

So are the tales from Pentoga Road…