Cigarettes, Lost Dreams, and Washi Tape
How a weekend of fireworks, friendship, and journaling brought old dreams back into focus.
As we headed to the Thumb for the Fourth of July weekend, an old jalopy blew past us on I-75. Chuck swore, then said with amusement and disgust, “That smells like cigarettes and lost dreams.”
I couldn’t help but agree and also wondered if that was a Hunter S. Thompson quote. (It’s not, as far as I can tell.)
Traffic slowed to a crawl after that, so I didn’t get the chance to ask Chuck about his lost dreams until we cleared Flint and made a hard right onto M-46. As we zigzagged across the Thumb, past towering wind turbines and farmland stretching in every direction, I finally asked. He didn’t miss a beat.
“I wanted to be a rock and roll star. But that didn’t work out. Oh, and I wanted to be an Air Force pilot, but my eyesight was bad, so that didn’t work out either.”
“You dream big,” I said.
“Isn’t that the point of dreams?” he replied, with a flicker of annoyance. I’d clearly missed something.
The conversation wandered off after that. The road dipped through ghost towns and curved past the Pioneer Sugar silos. Before long, we were pulling into our friends’ driveway in Caseville. We snagged a prime spot by the fence with a perfect view of Lake Huron and set up our new car tent. Harold, our trusty Subaru Outback, glowed like a kid invited to the grown-up table.
Friends rolled in from across Michigan, and a few even made the long haul from Kentucky. I always want to say that like they do in The Last of the Mohicans: Ken-tuck-key… drawing out every syllable like a chant or a spell.
We did all the things:
Fireworks.
Ice Cream.
S’mores.
And journaling. While others watched the lake and drank beer, I sat with my journal, gluing down photos from the night before.
“I’d love to look at that,” someone said.
A journaler’s worst fear: someone wanting to read the thing. It’s where, at least for me, I ramble and record thoughts I don’t always share with the world. It’s where I try to make sense of my feelings: some raw, some unfinished, some meant only for the page.
And yet, I often wish my grandmothers had kept journals. Not just recipes or holiday cards, but honest, messy pages full of what they were thinking. What they feared, what or who they loved. I want to know what made them laugh. Or cry. Or made them want to run away.
I know it is a double standard. I don’t want to share mine, but I would love to jump into my grandmother’s.
My journals aren’t exactly captivating. Mostly lists. I note the weather, where we ate, what I meant to do, and what I didn’t. But they’re also weighed down with Washi tape, postcards, stickers, and little photos printed with my new Canon printer. A scrapbook for no one but me.
Still, I imagine someone finding one someday, after I’m gone, maybe a great-grandchild, a grand-niece, or better yet, a curious historian in 200 years trying to decipher the handwriting.
Will they know me after reading it? Probably not. But they’ll know what and where I ate. They’ll wonder why I used so much Washi tape. (If you’re wondering: it’s decorative masking tape crafters use to make things pretty. And yes, I might have a problem.)
Back home, while shaking loose the stowaway ants from our camping gear and flipping through my journal, I found my thoughts looping back to Chuck’s dreams. and eventually, my own.
Becoming an investigative reporter like Barbara Walters.
A historian like Henry Louis Gates Jr. on “Finding Your Roots.”
A photographer for National Geographic. That one still glows the brightest.
I’m not waiting for PBS, ABC, or National Geographic to call me up. That ship has sailed, as they say. But I haven’t completely let go of those dreams.
Instead, I have Life In Michigan. It hasn’t won any awards or earned any money, but it’s given me a place to tell stories. To create. To meet people. And maybe, in some small way, to live the dreams that didn’t quite unfold the way I once imagined.
Maybe dreams aren’t truly lost just because they don’t come true in the traditional sense. No, Chuck didn’t become a rock and roll legend like Dave Grohl, but he is a damn fine guitarist. And if you give him a microphone, well, he will definitely entertain you.
Maybe telling stories, snapping photos, and making things matter, right here, right now, is its own kind of dream come true.
GIG - The Art of Michigan Music Update
Huge Thanks to everyone who came out for the BINGO fundraiser and everyone who donated GIG.
Another fundraiser is coming up in July.
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Life In Michigan Updates
The latest Life Michigan Podcast episode is out!
The Johnny Williams Story: From Dodging the Draft to Saving the Speakeasy
In this heartfelt and wildly entertaining episode, we sit down with Michigan music legend Johnny Williams—educator, community builder, and founder of The Speakeasy—along with the brilliant singer-songwriter Judy Banker.
If you have an idea for a guest, email me (info@lifeinmichigan.com). We are looking for anyone who is creative, passionate, and has a story to share about their Life In Michigan. Don’t be shy.
The latest episode of Fans with Bands just dropped!
It’s like we’ve been making up for lost time! A bunch of new articles hit the internet! Click on the picture to read the full article.
If you are a Sunday Sip regular, you know Chuck loves curating an events listing. We’ve created a public Google Events Calendar so you’ll never miss an event. Get over there and subscribe!
You’ll find things like this on the calendar!
Digging In the Archives
I found this old post from 2013, when I fancied myself as a historian. I’d love it if you read Emma’s story.
Love the wildlife photos, Brenda - especially of that Red Squirrel and the daisy flower!