The Klatch
Mother’s Day Brunch Exhausts Both Waffle Irons
Daybreak staff report no injuries and one argument over chokecherry syrup.
Read the full story →Vol. CXXIX — No. 19 · Archive Section
The Klatch & Living
Tuesday, May 12, 2026 · Fishing Opener Recap · Full weekly section page with current issue material, standing notices, and back-page items.
Living Features
The Klatch Board
Eunice’s Notebook
Mother’s Day Brunch After-Action Report
The Daybreak exhausted both waffle irons Sunday and discovered, once again, that chokecherry syrup brings out the strongest opinions in otherwise gentle people.
This week’s kitchen note: if your rhubarb is up, do not brag in public unless you brought enough to share.
Recipe clipping: cold chicken salad with celery, onion, and enough pepper to wake it up. No grapes. This is not the Cities.
Personals & Thanks
From the Kitchen Table
- Congratulations to the Lakeside band on finishing together and at the same time.
- Card shower requested for Marian Olson, who turns 96 next week. Send through church office.
Living · Stars Over the Chain
The Week in the Stars
As read by Sigrid Pelto, who has lived in Misquah her whole life — but for college, and the summer of 1995, when she and the girls did Europe on a rail pass and a woman in a Florence market took her hand and told her she had the gift. She reads from the end of her dock on Loon Lake.
Mercury’s heading into what they call its shadow. I learned that word from a magazine I bought in a train station in Vienna, and I’ve never forgotten it — it just means little mix-ups are gathering. Confirm the brunch and the bait both. The Moon’s waxing, which is kind to loons, to homecomings, and to second helpings.
Aries
You caught fish and you can’t stop talking about it — and why should you, you earned it. Only mind that Mercury’s shadow is creeping in, so the story may get checked by somebody who was standing right there. Tell it true and you’ll be fine.
Taurus
Happy birthday, and many of them. You’ll want to celebrate the quiet way, near the water, with one good person who won’t make a production of it. That’s enough. You’ve always known that enough is enough.
Gemini
Mercury’s your planet, and it’s going dim this week, which is likely why the reservation and the bait order both went sideways. Slow down and check your dates. Your season’s nearly here — you’ll want to walk into it with your feet under you.
Cancer
Call your mother this week, or go sit on the bench where you still talk to her — both count the same, and she knows it’s you. The Moon’s tender right now. For you, the missing and the loving were always one thing, and there’s no shame in that.
Leo
The fish were picky and you took it to heart, but they weren’t being unkind — fish never are. Go back Thursday. The lake forgets a slow day faster than you do, and it’d like to see you again.
Virgo
You knew the loons were back before anybody put it in the paper. You always know first, and you’re always right. This once, though, let somebody else have the joy of discovering spring. It’ll do them good, and rest you.
Libra
A nicely balanced week — a little pie social, a little quiet porch. Take both. Venus is fond of you just now, so have the second slice, and turn down the third the graceful way you do.
Scorpio
A dock light got mistaken for a distress call and set the whole lake whispering. You, of anybody, can tell a real trouble from a glow in the dark. Watch the water this week. You’ll see what the others missed.
Sagittarius
You’re itching to roam, but the roads are soft yet and the far shore’s right here. Make the back of Whitefish your big trip this week — that’s plenty. The journey you actually take always beats the one you only talk about.
Capricorn
You fixed a thing nobody even knew was broken, quiet as anything, on a Tuesday. The stars saw it, even if no one else did. That makes the two of us who noticed, and for you that’s a fine-sized crowd.
Aquarius
The hardware store’s open most days, and so are you — most days. Tend to the part of you that stays shut on Saturdays. Even a person as open as you keeps one door locked, and that’s all right; just don’t lose the key.
Pisces
You felt the season turn before the calendar would admit it, the way you always do. Trust that feeling — the loons trusted theirs, and look at them, home and content. Your hunches are the truest instrument you’ve got.
On Your Big Three. People ask me to explain the three big pieces, so here it is the way I learned it. Your Sun is who you are at the Daybreak counter, where everyone can see you. Your Moon is who you are at two in the morning, when the wind comes up off the lake and you can’t sleep. And your Rising is who the new pastor thinks you are, before he knows any better. I read all three by appointment, Tuesdays, out at the end of my dock — weather and coffee permitting. Bring your birth time if you’ve got it. Bring a thermos if you don’t.