Sunday, February 1, 2026 - Day 527

Sunday, February 1, 2026

Super Bowl Squares Pool.

• Pool #1 is sold out
• Pool #2 is open — same deal: $25 per square ($10 goes to ALS United)

In the notes section of Venmo or Zelle, please write Super Bowl Squares and your name, and send to: • Venmo: @Nicole-Snarski
• Zelle: nesnarski@gmail.com
• Phone number to verify: 847-687-3312

Once the squares have numbers assigned, I’ll post a photo on the blog. I don’t have it… yet. ———————————————————————

Good morning, everyone.

First things first—happy belated birthday to my ALS brother Pete. We were introduced this past fall, and he’s been walking alongside me ever since. I’m proud to call him a friend and thankful for his encouragement, support, and optimism.

When I was a young teenager, I spent a week most summers in Manitowish Waters, Wisconsin, at a YMCA camp called Camp Jorn. It was a magical, but primitive place—endless activities designed to keep kids busy and give parents a little peace and quiet. Or at least fewer kids wandering around the house saying, “I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.”

One of the activities was canoeing, and it quickly became my favorite—right up there with the rifle range, archery, and horseback riding.

As you grew older and more experienced, the canoe trips evolved. What started as a single overnight eventually turned into longer, more demanding adventures—up to ten-day trips that pushed deep into the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in Minnesota and Quetico Provincial Park in Canada.

Those trips were physically, mentally, and emotionally challenging. They tested you from start to finish. You learned how to work together, share space, leave no trace, and respect nature—especially the bears, and the rare, unforgettable sighting of a moose. Looking back, those trips rank among the most memorable experiences of my teenage years. They marked the slow, uneven transition from kid to adult. For some of us… that “transition” lasted a long time. It certainly did for me.

After Camp Jorn, I had the opportunity to take a similar weeklong canoe trip sponsored by NIU. I had a little free time at the start of summer and figured it might be my last chance to do a full canoe-and-camping trip before joining the workforce.

That’s where this story really begins.

The group was a mix—people who had never held a paddle before, and others with real experience. I landed somewhere in the middle. We paired up, and I was matched with a woman who had never done any serious canoeing. She turned out to be what I affectionately call a “lily dipper.” Not a sexist term—applicable to anyone who puts the paddle in the water and lets the canoe’s momentum do the rest. That works fine… until you’re crossing a big lake with a 20-mph headwind. Then it becomes a very long, very tiring day…for the other person in the canoe.

Midway through the trip, we were drifting down a calm river. The sun was shining, no wind to speak of, and the morning chill was finally burning off. My canoe partner decided she wanted to remove a layer of clothing—and chose to do so by standing up.

I immediately begged her to sit down.

She didn’t.

I dropped to my knees in the stern to lower my center of gravity while she happily shook things out. And then it happened. She wobbled. I flattened myself as low as I could. A split second later, she was in the water—and the sudden shift sent the canoe sideways.

Over I went.

As I plunged headfirst into the river, I made a desperate grab for my glasses. I missed. When I surfaced, the glasses were gone—and so was any chance of finishing the trip normally. I had plenty of choice words for the stupidity of that moment. I spent the rest of the trip nearly blind and pretty useless around camp. All the apologies in the world couldn’t undo it. I kept kicking myself for not having my glasses secured.

One minute it’s all fun and games…
and then pow—it’s not.

I did make one more canoe trip to Canada after that—my final one. But that’s a story for another day.

Have a good Sunday. Love you guys! ❤️