The Word “Shoot” Means Something Entirely Different Here

Friday of my week in Michigan, the day after I said goodbye to our old house, was the one really pretty day of my visit. I listened to the Beach Boys while I stretched, and then meditated on the deck off the kitchen, the first time I’ve ever meditated outside. It was nice—warm, with the sound of the wind in the treetops and a nearby bell tower chiming twelve chimes at noon.

On WRIF, while I showered, the DJ said, “Note to movie people who are new to Detroit: The word ‘shoot’ means something entirely different here.”

I set out to walk around Mom and Dad’s new block, but it’s not a square block you can easily walk around, so instead I went to read the plaque at the historical Ypsilanti Water Tower and gaze somberly upon the bust of Demetrius Ypsilanti, a hero of the Greek War of Independence.

I made my way past the compound of another relative and to the main thoroughfare, two sleepy blocks of Michigan Avenue, plus there is a block or two of historical Depot Town not far off. I went into the district library, and into the convention and visitors’ bureau, where I was directed to the Ypsilanti Historical Museum, on N. Huron St.

At the historical museum, which is housed in a private home built in 1860 and restored to that era, I received a lengthy and detailed tour from the knowledgeable historian on duty. I liked that contributions of non-white persons were highlighted at every turn, including those of Elijah McCoy, an African-Canadian inventor who, in his Ypsilanti machine shop, “invented an automatic lubricator for oiling the steam engines of locomotives and boats” (that’s from Wikipedia).

This meant that trains no longer had to stop periodically to be lubricated, and is one possible origin of the phrase “the real McCoy.”

The white couple who originally built the house supported the Underground Railroad; their son was an attorney who was obliged by his employer, against his own sentiments, to argue for the continuation of slavery in the Dred Scott v. Sandford case.

Right across from the museum is the Towner House, the oldest house in Ypsilanti on its original foundation. It dates to 1837; my great aunt and uncle lived in it from 1951 to 1968, the first people to occupy it after members of the Towner family.

After the museum, I went to Depot Town and had lunch at Café Luwak (42 E. Cross St.), sitting out front at a metal table, and purchased a scoop of ice cream for the walk home.
In the evening, my sister and I walked downtown again and had dinner at Haab’s, Ypsi’s (“ip-sees”) best-known restaurant.

I returned home on Saturday so I’d have Sunday for cooking: lentils, brown rice, kale-potato soup, chocolate-chip cookies and whole-wheat bread.