I'm back. Seven days and seven nights at Houghton Lake, Michigan's largest inland lake. We rent a small cabin, putting nine people into about 800 square feet, no basement, patio, garage, or anything else that might add to the footage. Two bedrooms. The baby (Tess; 15 months) sleeps in our bedroom, in the closet. She's the third Scheske baby to do so. She doesn't feel the humiliation. None of them did.
The cabin is part of larger resort, known as East Bay Lakefront Lodge (f/k/a Shea's Lodge). It's located about ninety minutes north of Lansing, toward the southernmost border of Michigan's rugged north country. If you're looking for a nice but inexpensive place to hang out in that area, I recommend it. You can find nicer digs if you proceed further northwest, but things tend to get more and more expensive the further you go.
I go there every year. In addition to my wife and children, I spend the week with fifty in-laws: parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews, cousins, and cousins-once-removed-in-law. It's not as brutal as it sounds. They're good people, and my cabin is about 100 feet off the beaten in-law track, thus giving me ample opportunity to read and write in seclusion. This year, I didn't read a single book, but made serious headway in many: the Gospel of John, along with Steve Ray's commentary; Albert Jay Nock's Memoirs of a Superfluous Man (a great vacation companion); a collection of Joseph Epstein essays; some Aquinas, Walter Ong, and Ludwig von Mises; and a little Ray Bradbury (Dandelion Wine).
I apologize for the lame blogging this past week, but I'm sure you understand. Regular blogging will resume Monday morning.
