A ride north on M-19 through Verona to Port Austin in Michigan's thumb always proves refreshing.
A frenetic culture filled with anxiety, it seems, is the prescription for rest, at least for this pilgrim poking his way through small towns, and the countryside.
Peck, Michigan brings back memories of years ago when friends and I would stop at a bakery there for the pancake-size oatmeal cookies that can't be beat.
In fact, I turned back after assuming the bakery would no longer have them.
Wrong!
For $3.50 a dozen, two white bagsfull of oatmeal, chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies delighted my walk back to my car where my snow-white Bichon Frise, Woof, awaited.
Roots, relationships and religion always have a way of connecting me with my dad's side of the tribe, so to speak.
My first stop after a bite into an oatmeal cookie brought me directly across the street from Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Bad Axe where Michael Josaitis was nowhere near to be found this sunny Friday afternoon around 3.
I decided to park my car at his home and take a walk with Woof to Buckley's on Main Street in town.
Forty-five minutes later, Michael's van sat in front of his huge house as he loaded up items to store elsewhere.
Excitedly, he asked: "Where were you? I even called the police and they tracked you, and, then I guessed who it was parked in my driveway!"
A question mark made of black tape adorned the driver's window of my Habeneros Prius Hybrid that combines at 51 miles of gas each mile, something I can afford apart from my gas-guzzling Jeep.
Woops, I thought as Michael mounted his protest of me parking in his space, I guess!
I didn't mean to excite anyone.
After sharing a long and engaging talk in the sun, and, warm bottled-water from my trunk, I headed north to Port Austin to visit my cousins Leonard and Theresa Horetski. They were preparing the soil for corn and other crops on their farm adjacent to the Levine acres where I'm told my dear dad was raised before he hiked to Detroit to work for the Budd Company at 16.
A couple of hours of delightful memories and moments moved me to my brother's home on M-25, along the glassy blue and rocky Lake Huron.
After a chat with Bob, I retired for some praying of the psalms, and a restful sleep. Afterall, the next day would have me wheeling my way back refreshed and ready to face life's joys and sorrows some more.
That pause was precious, however.
Hours away give me a fresh perspective on things that matter most.
And, Sunday was Mother's Day. Moms would be making their way to celebrate Mass, and more.
After all, there it all began in my own mom's womb and sanctuary, and, there in the tabernacle, in the heart and center of Jesus, answers to all of the problems of life get settled, at least for this pilgrim passing over in my sixth decade of a rocky, wild and joy-filled trek as a Catholic.
I recall the words of the Gospel of John, and craft a homily, "All my mother ever told me... Remain in my love."
All she ever showed me was love amid her own human trek of raising seven kids with dad's help.
I can't ask for much more than that, can I?
Pauses away, like these, sprinkled with a few psalms throughout the day and week are like savoring a hot cup of green tea. Or, a dewfall of blessings pouring down to water and nourish hungry hearts.
I relish it all.
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