Stanwood is a tiny nook in the Michigan woods where my grandparents live. (It's about near the base of your ring finger if you hold your hand up like a mitten.) They live by a lake in a house made of what my nana calls "Persian" cedarwood, because her Persian cat has rubbed herself all over it. They are visited by deer and many squirrels, including one named Charlie who always comes for Christmas. My nana buys her vegetables and pies from a local Amish family. The father planes wood for my grandpa. If you ever hear me say I'm going home, it means I'm going to Stanwood.
Stanwood, Michigan
Stanwood is a tiny nook in the Michigan woods where my grandparents live. (It's about near the base of your ring finger if you hold your hand up like a mitten.) They live by a lake in a house made of what my nana calls "Persian" cedarwood, because her Persian cat has rubbed herself all over it. They are visited by deer and many squirrels, including one named Charlie who always comes for Christmas. My nana buys her vegetables and pies from a local Amish family. The father planes wood for my grandpa. If you ever hear me say I'm going home, it means I'm going to Stanwood.
Home
As a child growing up I idealized my grandparents’ house on Redfern in Detroit as the epitome of home. My own home was dark and dangerous, but theirs felt bright, and elegant, and safe. It was a fantasy place. When they sold it after 25 years to retire to Northern Michigan, I was gutted. Devastated. I visited them begrudgingly, refusing to accept the change.
In 2000 I called my grandfather to tell him I was moving to Los Angeles. There was a quiet on the phone. “That’s really far,” he said. In that moment, in that pause, Stanwood became home. Because it’s where they are.
In 2000 I called my grandfather to tell him I was moving to Los Angeles. There was a quiet on the phone. “That’s really far,” he said. In that moment, in that pause, Stanwood became home. Because it’s where they are.
Welcome to Stanwood.
Supper Clubs
Like most great ideas, supper clubs were a creation of necessity. They got their start in the northern Middle West of the United States, in Wisconsin and Michigan. Rural farmspeople, being rural and busy, had no easy access to entertainment or socializing. So enterprising folks established clubs at more-or-less accessible crossroads on the outskirts of a town.There, men and women from the community could get it all in one night; a few drinks, a meal they didn't have to kill or cook, and solid entertainment — a good time. A hard-earned, well-deserved evening worth cleaning up and coming out for. These weren't tony affairs; "all-you-can-eat" fish fry was popular supper club fare. Many clubs got their start as prohibition roadhouses.
While we may not serve fish fry, we are not a fancy people. We are not on the outskirts of a small town, but in the heart of Hollywood, California.
And this supper club, too, is born of necessity.
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