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Disclaimer: The following stories are an attempt to portray a humorus view of our life in northern Michigan. All areas and individuals mentioned are fictional composites of communities and individuals who represent this part of our great state. Any resemblence to a particular individual or community is probably a coincidence, but then again, maybe not.
True Tales
from Michigan's North
from Michigan's North
Note: These stories are constantly being tweaked and changed, so every once in a while, give them a re-read. More will be added.
[Code of the North] [The Great Elk Hunt] [The Post Office] [Turkey Tales 1] [Turkey Tales 2]
[Turkey Tales 3] [1st Big Pumpkin Day] [Big Pumpkin Day 2] [The Poker Game] [Tornado!]
[Crime Wave] [1st Day of Deer Season] [A New Job] [Big Bertha] [The Restaurant]
[Lost Love] [The Dinner] [Cherry Picking Time] [Big_Boys_Cry]
[Turkey Tales 3] [1st Big Pumpkin Day] [Big Pumpkin Day 2] [The Poker Game] [Tornado!]
[Crime Wave] [1st Day of Deer Season] [A New Job] [Big Bertha] [The Restaurant]
[Lost Love] [The Dinner] [Cherry Picking Time] [Big_Boys_Cry]
Old Number 7
August 2009
Old Number 7
First just a literary note here. This story was originally supposed to be titled “Old # VII’ to add some literary class to it, but then I thought, maybe somebody that has no literary class might read the title as “Old pound sign vee eye eye” and therefore not bother to read a story about vee i i. So I decided maybe this true tale should be titled “Old Number 7” to avoid any confusion.
Since that was the first note, then it follows that this would be secondly: The reason I am writing this story now is that many of you out there have been asking me, “Wade, when are you going to write another story?”. To which I have to reply, making this of course thirdly, “These are not just stories, these are ‘True Tales’, which implies they must actually happen BEFORE I can write about them. If they were made up stories, then of course, I could write them anytime. Which leads me to fourthly: something really important has happened that I can now set keyboard to computer screen and let you know about it. Which leads me to fifthly: unfortunately, I can’t tell you about that until I tell you the story of ‘Old Number 7’ I hope this is all clear, because I really don’t want to sit here and type a sixthly.
Now in most towns, Old Number 7 would refer to an old beloved fire engine or locomotive engine being restored to set in a local museum. That’s in most towns, but not here in the North Country. No, up here Old Number Something, refers to the husbands in the life of Sweet Amy. Now when last we heard of Sweet Amy, she had divorced Spike and sold the Old 210 Tavern (Author’s Note: in this instance the Old 210 really does refer to something old and beloved and not to the number of Sweet Amy’s husbands. Amy’s going to have a lot of husbands, but probable not 210).
Everyone in the North was distraught over this, of course. (Again an author’s note: not so much about the divorce, but selling the 210 Tavern). Since I hadn’t seen Sweet Amy in about seven months, I got to missing. After all, she’s been like a daughter to me over the years, or maybe since she owned the 210, (also, I never said she was like my favorite daughter or like my closest daughter), I decided to stop by her double-wide and see how she was doing. Wondering what my ‘almost like a daughter who used to own a bar’ daughter was up to, I dropped by her house. As I pulled up I noticed Amy sitting in a large, self-move U-Haul. Now I was shocked and thought, ‘I really have to pay more attention to someone who is almost like a daughter to me’. She didn’t even have my pretend grandkids in the truck cab, unless they were in the back. I leaped out of my car and immediately asked her to get out of the truck. To my surprise and fear, she actually did get out of the truck. My first question was, “Amy, you moving from Michigan?”
Amy said, “Nope, Wade just going to Arizona for awhile.”
So the natural question would be “Well”, says I, “If you’re not moving, then you must be going to ahh, errr, ahh, umm, how do I say this, you going to smuggle illegal aliens?, a U-Haul isn’t a very good disguise?” No, you twit”, (by the way Amy, you shouldn’t call your ‘dad’ a twit, even if he isn’t your real dad), I’m going to get me a man”.
My reply was, “Don’t you mean men, after all, that is a pretty big truck?”
Amy replied, “Look Wade, I’ve run out of men to date up here since Spike and I split, found me one on the Internet the other day who lives in Arizona, so I thought I’d give him a shot. There ain’t no trees in Arizona. I ain’t livin where there ain’t no trees, so I’m movin my new man back here”
“Well, what’s he like?”, I inquired rather cautiously.
Well, I don’t know too much about him, but he’s a guy who knows nothing about me, from his picture he has all his own teeth and he is willing to move. Besides all those pluses, he thinks he would like hunting and fishing. If you put all that together, its better than anything I can find up here, so I thought I’d take a shot. Definitely worth the drive to Arizona and back.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean”, I replied, “but what does he do for a living?”
“Don’t care”, she said as she got back in the truck and started the engine. “ I think he’s trainable, and if not, there’s gotta be a number 8 in that great big state of Arizona. See you in two weeks pretend Dad” as she pulled out of the driveway.”
As she drove down the road, I thought, “She really makes you proud to be a dad, even a pretend dad.”
I never did find out if my pretend grandkids were in the back of that truck though. Oh well, they must be someplace.
August 2009
Old Number 7
First just a literary note here. This story was originally supposed to be titled “Old # VII’ to add some literary class to it, but then I thought, maybe somebody that has no literary class might read the title as “Old pound sign vee eye eye” and therefore not bother to read a story about vee i i. So I decided maybe this true tale should be titled “Old Number 7” to avoid any confusion.
Since that was the first note, then it follows that this would be secondly: The reason I am writing this story now is that many of you out there have been asking me, “Wade, when are you going to write another story?”. To which I have to reply, making this of course thirdly, “These are not just stories, these are ‘True Tales’, which implies they must actually happen BEFORE I can write about them. If they were made up stories, then of course, I could write them anytime. Which leads me to fourthly: something really important has happened that I can now set keyboard to computer screen and let you know about it. Which leads me to fifthly: unfortunately, I can’t tell you about that until I tell you the story of ‘Old Number 7’ I hope this is all clear, because I really don’t want to sit here and type a sixthly.
Now in most towns, Old Number 7 would refer to an old beloved fire engine or locomotive engine being restored to set in a local museum. That’s in most towns, but not here in the North Country. No, up here Old Number Something, refers to the husbands in the life of Sweet Amy. Now when last we heard of Sweet Amy, she had divorced Spike and sold the Old 210 Tavern (Author’s Note: in this instance the Old 210 really does refer to something old and beloved and not to the number of Sweet Amy’s husbands. Amy’s going to have a lot of husbands, but probable not 210).
Everyone in the North was distraught over this, of course. (Again an author’s note: not so much about the divorce, but selling the 210 Tavern). Since I hadn’t seen Sweet Amy in about seven months, I got to missing. After all, she’s been like a daughter to me over the years, or maybe since she owned the 210, (also, I never said she was like my favorite daughter or like my closest daughter), I decided to stop by her double-wide and see how she was doing. Wondering what my ‘almost like a daughter who used to own a bar’ daughter was up to, I dropped by her house. As I pulled up I noticed Amy sitting in a large, self-move U-Haul. Now I was shocked and thought, ‘I really have to pay more attention to someone who is almost like a daughter to me’. She didn’t even have my pretend grandkids in the truck cab, unless they were in the back. I leaped out of my car and immediately asked her to get out of the truck. To my surprise and fear, she actually did get out of the truck. My first question was, “Amy, you moving from Michigan?”
Amy said, “Nope, Wade just going to Arizona for awhile.”
So the natural question would be “Well”, says I, “If you’re not moving, then you must be going to ahh, errr, ahh, umm, how do I say this, you going to smuggle illegal aliens?, a U-Haul isn’t a very good disguise?” No, you twit”, (by the way Amy, you shouldn’t call your ‘dad’ a twit, even if he isn’t your real dad), I’m going to get me a man”.
My reply was, “Don’t you mean men, after all, that is a pretty big truck?”
Amy replied, “Look Wade, I’ve run out of men to date up here since Spike and I split, found me one on the Internet the other day who lives in Arizona, so I thought I’d give him a shot. There ain’t no trees in Arizona. I ain’t livin where there ain’t no trees, so I’m movin my new man back here”
“Well, what’s he like?”, I inquired rather cautiously.
Well, I don’t know too much about him, but he’s a guy who knows nothing about me, from his picture he has all his own teeth and he is willing to move. Besides all those pluses, he thinks he would like hunting and fishing. If you put all that together, its better than anything I can find up here, so I thought I’d take a shot. Definitely worth the drive to Arizona and back.”
“Yeah, I see what you mean”, I replied, “but what does he do for a living?”
“Don’t care”, she said as she got back in the truck and started the engine. “ I think he’s trainable, and if not, there’s gotta be a number 8 in that great big state of Arizona. See you in two weeks pretend Dad” as she pulled out of the driveway.”
As she drove down the road, I thought, “She really makes you proud to be a dad, even a pretend dad.”
I never did find out if my pretend grandkids were in the back of that truck though. Oh well, they must be someplace.
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