Jovi, my 9-year-old great granddaughter, is just finishing third grade. When she was in kindergarten her mom, my granddaughter Ariana asked if I would donate a homemade cake for their fundraiser at the end of the school year. I said sure. I don’t know if they hold silent auctions for the baked goods or do what our kids did when they were in school. It’s like musical chairs. You pay so much to participate, (thus raising money for the school part) then if you win, it’s your choice what fancy dessert you choose. From what I heard, Jovi (Ari) paid an outrageous price for a Red Velvet cake with Twinkie frosting, when all she had to do was ask me to make her one-for free.

That fall after her kindergarten year, I started working in a cottage kitchen for a local restaurant, 3 mornings a week. My job was baking a variety of muffins and pies. That’s it. After a few months of learning the routine (and working out the kinks) I noticed something. The number of eggs I used rivaled what the restaurant used to cook all their breakfasts. Several of the dessert recipes though just called for egg yolks. Some mornings I went through 16-24 egg yolks, which amounts to 3 plus cups of egg whites. I’d put them in a container and stick ‘em in the cooler. Boss said she was gonna make macaroons with her grandkids. After 6 weeks I’d dump the containers and start over. As far as I know she never made macaroons. Hey, she was a busy lady.

What a waste. Certainly there was something I could make using the egg whites-besides Divinity-my-favorite-candy-in-the-world, but prone to be tricky to perfect for this old cook. Still I brought some home. I love Angel food cake but had never made one from scratch. The recipe I found called for extra fine sugar and cake flour. And a sifter. I hadn’t used a sifter in 30 years, it had been long discarded in one of our moves. When I had all the necessary ingredients (and a new sifter) I made my first Angel food cake. It’s kinda of a pain, you have to sift the flour/sugar mixture together 3 freaking times, but the results were phenomenal. Absolutely delicious and worth the effort.

Mom made Angel food cake frequently (not from scratch though) when I was growing up. She made 7-minute frosting for the cake, which is kinda like divinity candy. Ironically, the frosting uses only egg whites too. But I’ve always been hesitant to make 7-minute frosting. Something my mom excelled at, I’m afraid I’d never make it as good as mom’s. So I leave my Angel food cake naked and top it with fresh strawberries and whip cream or eat it plain.

Many years ago Erika, a dear friend from Muskegon gave me a recipe for tiny meringues that she made. She’s from Austria, and the meringues had to be tinted with yellow food coloring, a custom she adhered to. She kept them in a paper bag. For months. Yup, they stay fresh for an extended period of time. Her recipe was labor intensive, like putting a dish of hot water under the mixer bowl to help dissolve all the sugar the recipe called for. But if I was gonna tackle meringues I wanted to use a lot of whites and make a boatload in one setting. So I tweaked a couple recipes and use one that suits my needs.

Began making meringues every couple weeks and handing them out to our kids and grands. Fell behind keeping up with all the egg whites and started freezing and dating the containers. I would have bet my grandson with allergies (but not allergic to eggs!) would have latched onto both the Angel food cake and meringues, but alas, he’s not crazy about either one. My other grandson loves them and finds sneaky ways to keep them hidden from his family!

When Jovi was in first grade I made a batch of meringues instead of a cake for the now cake-less walk. (The meringues are the size of a quarter, looks like a Hershey star and each batch makes 300-400). Colored each batch a different pastel, mixed them up when I boxed them. They looked so stinking cute. But after the first year I stopped dyeing the meringues. Many parents are against artificial colors in their kids food and snacks and I get that. Just plain white ones since then. Well they sold like hotcakes at the cake (less) walk. Second grade I upped the ante to around 2,000 meringues. I bought several 30 ounce Hefty plastic containers with domed lids at Sam’s Club. I can fit around 50 in each container. Ari set up a separate “Meringue” table and they sold out in minutes. This year my goal was 4,000 meringues which would amount to 80 containers. Ambitious ‘ya think? Started about 2 weeks before the event, making a batch almost every day.

I had several gallon plastic tubs on top of the fridge filled with meringues (they do take some room) and still more to make and bake so I washed 90 Hefty containers and took a day to fill, pack and store them in the spare bedroom. I stopped counting containers after 70, but think my total was fairly close to the 4,000 mark I was striving for. Ari & Jovi came over for supper and hauled all the boxes to the car with a promise that she wouldn’t leave them in her car for 2 days before the cake (less) walk. (Humidity is not meringues friend).

Sold every box.

I brought a container of meringues to physical therapy recently. I don’t think anyone had ever had tasted them before. “What’s in this? How do you make them? How many calories? What do you use to make the design? They kinda taste like crunchy marshmallows.”

“Well, meringues are Angel food cake without flour…”

I grew up in a small Iowa town, population 1,500. The folks were a mixture of Dutch, German, English, mostly middle class. I knew there were people in town who were certainly richer than us, and some who were less fortunate than our family. Most townies were hard working folks. Everyone outside of the city limits (I have to smile when I write that because we literally had one-stoplight) were farmers to some of the best crop growing soil in the world, although I didn’t realize it when I was a kid.

I don’t remember going without much growing up. Mom always made a good supper, meat and potatoes, a casserole or one of her homemade soups. I could eat hot lunch at school (less than 2 blocks away) or if they were serving something I didn’t care for, I’d walk home and eat leftovers or a tuna salad sandwich.

We went shopping quite often in Sheldon, Le Mars or Sioux Falls, mom sometimes letting me skip afternoon classes. Still most of my school clothes were ordered out of the Montgomery Wards, J.C. Penney catalog or made by a seamstress in town. Mom was an expert knitter and could crochet intricate patterns but struggled to replace a button on dad’s shirts. I think she enjoyed picking out material and patterns for outfits for me which I find kinda odd. She never seemed comfortable in fabric stores unless it was buying skeins of wool yarn. But we’d haul it to the woman who could stitch anything together and voila’ I’d have a new outfit in a week.

We weren’t rich or poor but I cannot remember any day of my life growing up in that house where mom or dad were flat broke. They always had (some) cash. If I was alone after school there was a candy dish with loose change on the dining room table. I’d take a nickel, walk a couple blocks ‘to town’ and buy some Brach’s chocolates, which were weighed out by the ounce from the U-shaped candy counter (chocolate covered peanuts, malt balls or stars were my favorites).

Mom kept a small box with dividers above the fridge in the cupboard (she was a 6 footer and had no problems with reaching stuff). Between the dividers were CASH allotments to pay bills, phone, electric, (we had a fuel oil furnace so had to get that tank filled up from the De Boer Brothers). Plus 2 gas station bills. Mom went to one, De Boer’s, dad filled up at another, Ver Berg’s. I know, another oddity of the house. Mom or dad would drive around town, stopping to pay the bills each month-in CASH.

I guess mom’s reasoning for keeping a stash of cash rubbed off. Would if she were driving to Sioux Falls and had a flat tire? More than likely, someone would stop and offer to change the tire for her. (Don’t know how long Triple A and such services have been around but the Gerritson’s didn’t subscribe to any but full coverage car insurance). Mom would of course offer to give him something for his help. I’m thinking a 5 or ten dollar bill back in the ‘60’s.

Mom just couldn’t be without some cash in her wallet. She might have had a Ward’s or Penney’s card (which she would have paid in full by check every month, signing her first, middle, maiden name before her married name, which took more than the signature line provided-haha), but I don’t believe she had a true credit card.

I just can’t fathom becoming a cashless society. Until a couple years ago I still wrote checks at the grocery store, although now I use a debit card. I faithfully come home and subtract the total in the checkbook. But to stop at Jimmy John’s, Subway or Dairy Queen, it just seems logical to pay cash. I don’t pay cash to fill up the Jeep anymore. I fully embrace not having to go inside to pay and would have appreciated that a great deal when I had littles.

Twenty years ago I recall a teacher friend telling me she had stopped at the grocery store to buy some Halloween candy for her students on her way to school. The grocery store debit/credit card gizmo was on the fritz that morning and she had no cash to pay for the treats so had to leave empty handed. I was dumbfounded. She had a 40 mile drive to get to school. How could she leave town without a few bucks on her in case her car broke down? I read an article in the paper today about some church denominations making changes in how they collect offerings. Seems like younger people, 25-45 don’t carry cash so the church has adapted. Now the collection plates have credit card readers attached. Oh. My. Stars. As for me and the Hubs, we will continue our old-fashioned way of life and always carry some cash…

I’ve been an Iowa Hawkeye fan for decades. We moved from Iowa to Michigan almost 40 years ago, however Iowa will always be home and the Hawks have my heart. Initially over the years it was men’s basketball. Kenny Arnold, Bobby Hansen, Steve Carfino, Roy Marble, the Twin Towers-Michael Payne & Greg Stokes and my all time favorite, BJ Armstrong. Hubs loves football foremost but for me it was basketball and Lute Olsen. I was devastated when he left Iowa. But soon there was a new doctor in the house (Tom Davis) who healed all those boo-boos.

It wasn’t until Iowa’s own Caitlin Clark (Des Moines Dowling) was into her collegiate career, making 3’s from mid-court and shattering every basketball record known to men and women when we started paying attention to the ladies team. Wow, they were exciting to watch. Classy and fun to root for.

When Caitlin went pro (yes we watch her and the Indiana Fever religiously-absolutely love Aliyah Boston too) we continued to enjoy the Hawkeye men’s and women’s basketball teams. We thought there might be a letdown after Caitlin left-but Carver-Hawkeye Arena continues to sell out. Felt there might be another letdown after Lisa Bluder retired-but no. Jan Jensen’s doing a fine job recruiting and coaching.

The men’s team has gone through some significant changes this year too. After ending McCaffery’s (sorry, too long) coaching tenure, Ben McCollum (a Storm Lake-Iowa City native) was hired to breathe some new life into the program. I guess it’s expected when there’s a coaching change but I was shocked and disappointed when all but one player transferred. Go Cooooop! I had such a soft spot for Josh Dix and Pryce Sandfort. Both are doing well at their new schools so I’ll stop with the pity party over my loss.

There’s something fiercely loyal about Hawkeye fans and it wasn’t until we moved to Michigan when I figured out the most likely reason. From where we live now, it’s possible to be at a game within an hour watching the Lions (go Sam Laporta and Jack Campbell) the Red Wings or the Tigers. Plus we’re a half hour away from the Spartans and Wolverines. Iowa folks do not have that luxury. You’re either a Hawkeye fan or Iowa State Cyclone wanna-be. That’s it. End of choices except for smaller colleges. No pro teams closer than Illinois, Missouri or Minnesota.

The returning players were a great base for this 2025-2026 team. My favorite was ‘Heiden’ in plain sight. Go Ava! A ‘big’ just starting to flourish at the end of last season. Who knew her role this year would be this huge and awesome? Well me, cause she was my favorite. Taylor-made ‘Steamroller’ Stremlow has shown significant strides in her sophomore year. Good ball handler, awesome passing ability with a penchant for sinking 3’s. Probably the biggest name returning for her senior year is number 45, The Incredible ‘Stuelke’ (happy Hannah). Plus 5th year senior defense specialist or (I’m-willing-to-take-a-charge-Wiley) Kylie Feuerbach.

Hubs has his favorite player too. It’s T-Mac, a three point shooter with her soul infused in the Hawkeye team. Unfortunately, Taylor McCabe tore her ACL in late January, had surgery to repair the damage but will be supporting her teammates from the bench for the rest of the season. He’s still pining her loss to the team.

I was excited about the incoming players to this year’s roster, and we had routine updates about a 5-star (you read that right-a-5) recruit from California. A really big Deal! A great Addie-tion. She’s very court-smart. Then came the news from Georgia. A sophomore guard was transferring to the Hawks. Rather small in stature but when that girl started throwing up 3’s, we knew it was the Wright choice. Shoot that Chit! (Her nickname is Chit-chat. A little basketball humor with a play on words. Try to keep up). She adds a solid presence on the floor and is a tremendous ball handler.

Freshmen Layla Hays (another big) hails from ‘way-up-north-to-Alaska. I’m sure she’s enjoying all that sunshine during the day and our mild Iowa winters. Ha! Lest we forget the rest of our Hawkeye family, there’s Callie Levin, Kennise Johnson, Emely Rodriguez, Jada Gyamfi and Teagan Mallegni (who’s heathy and getting more minutes).

Rounding out this year’s Iowa basketball ‘Journey’ is a gal who won my heart (just as Ava did last year) the second I saw her on the court. She’s a hustler, always going for the loose ball, steal or rebound. Her mid-range jump shot (elbow) is something to see. She hails from Davenport which melts my heart. We lived in the quad-cities a few years during the early 80’s (and never wanted to leave but there was a serious downturn in farm equipment manufacturing and hundreds of engineers were laid off). She’s getting more minutes and it would be a safe bet to assume the rest of the B1G in the future will be muttering “hey, that Houston’s gonna be a big problem.” BTW, thanks to Kinnick North23 (another Hawk fan living in hostile territory) for supplying these super cool pics…

Can’t come up with the exact date these yearly appointments began, but suffice it to say it’s been at least 3 decades. When this procedure was suggested I was between 40-45, a few years after we moved to Michigan. All of a sudden your family doctor wants you to get certain body parts checked at regular intervals.

I was well past having another baby as our youngest was in his mid-teens. “You’re in your 40’s, now is the time to start having a Pap smear and mammogram,” Dr. Adamcyzk said. “If you want to go to a gynecologist, I can refer you to someone, otherwise the Pap can be done here and the mammogram is done at the hospital.” I did not want another doctor, so I went with his suggestions.

From Jackson, to North Muskegon, and back to Jackson, my PCP (primary care physician) took care of scheduling these 2 tests every year, until about 5 years ago. Seems like women in my age group rarely get cancer of the uterus so I’m done with that. But he has not mentioned a time frame for stopping the mammogram.

Many years ago I was working at a nursing home in Spencer, Iowa. One of the female residents was being helped with her shower (she was blind) when the aide discovered a large lump. An appointment was made with a specialist, who ordered a biopsy, which showed she had an aggressive form of breast cancer. Within a month she underwent a mastectomy. She was generously endowed, so after her breast removal she was so lopsided she couldn’t walk straight. I felt incredibly sorry for her and thought, dang, if and when I get to be her age please God, don’t let me go through this.

Which kinda makes me think mammograms for me are about done. But this is not a sad story, how did I get so morbid? Anyway. For many years after I stripped from the waist up, “gown is open in the front” is the first thing they say. I have a brown mole which is fairly close to my right armpit. Whoever was doing the test would get a small round bandage and plop it on top of the mole to rule out something suspicious for the radiologist’s diagnosis since it was so close to my boob.

You stand up near a machine, one arm extended to a handle while she maneuvers a vise that smooshes your boob completely flat, trying to locate the tiniest bit of cancer that might lurk about. “Hold your breath,” while the camera rotates. A couple shots of each boob and you’re done. Most of the tech’s were very good, but I had one gal who honestly seemed to thrive on my discomfort with the smooshing part. I remember I couldn’t turn my head either way for several days because my neck/throat were so stiff from being stretched beyond a reasonable length. My neck! My boobs weren’t the only things flat and deflated that trip. She was flat out mean.

Over the years there’s been a couple of dicey early call backs where the radiologist spotted something amiss, thus I had to go back a few days later for some better close ups of the area of concern but there’s never been anything to worry about.

So about 3 years ago I walk in with the gown open in front, clutched in my hand to hold it closed. She asks all the same questions, “any family history with cancer? Breast implants? Noticed anything different in your monthly self exam?”

She starts telling me to grab the bar with one hand when I stop her. “Where’s the bandaid for my mole? The techs have always used a bandaid on this brown mole by my boob. I don’t want to come back for more intensive testing because this mole looks like breast cancer.”

“Umm, there’s really no need to cover the mole,” she says. “How can that be,” I ask. “What’s changed?” Blushing and totally embarrassed she glanced down at my saggy, deflated chest and tried to explain the logistics of gravity without hurting my feelings, “your mole has not changed locations. Your breasts used to stand at attention right next to that mole. Now, they’re just casually resting a few inches south of your mole, closer to your bellybutton.”

“That’s hilarious,” I said, gasping for breath between giggles. I wasn’t offended at all. Could it be we really don’t see how much our body changes as we age? (I certainly feel those changes some days) Do we barely/rarely glance at what we really look like to ourselves (and others)? Wonder how come that never occurred to me…

For anyone who’s read more than a couple of my stories, you know when the Hubs and I eloped during the fall of 1969, I didn’t know how to boil water, let alone cook a meal. Kind of odd since mom made a home cooked meal for supper 5 nights a week. We ate out every Saturday night. Nothing fancy and rarely in the 2 big cities nearby, Sioux Falls or Sioux City. Rather we stayed within a few miles of home like Perkins Corner, (which is no longer there), Hull, Canton, Rock Rapids, Sioux Center or my hometown of Rock Valley (thank heavens-not another Sioux something).

Mom made a big dinner (noon meal) on Sunday (while we were in church and Sunday school-she went too-but went home while dad and I went to Sunday school), so we had either leftovers or a sandwich for supper before the second service of the sabbath. But mom preferred her alone time in our small kitchen and wasn’t compelled to teach her youngest the basics about everyday cooking, although I could make a mean plate of homemade fudge by the time I was 16 (which was mom’s maternal grandmother’s recipe).

For our first supper after returning from our luxurious 2 day honeymoon in Sioux Falls (of course) I attempted pork chops, (a favorite when I was growing up). They were as hard as a rock and clinked loudly on the plate as Hubs deftly slid them through a mountain of Heinz so not to offend his new bride. I had a ways to go in the art of meal making. I cried a lot but I did try. But this really isn’t about my cooking skills, but the type of cook/baker I would eventually become.

There were new conveniences readily available in grocery stores (yes-way back in the 70’s). The group that comes to mind is Hamburger Helper. A variety of boxed, dried ingredients/spices/pasta that would transform a pound of browned hamburger into a delectable meal. And I admit I did try a few in the beginning. But it wasn’t long before I started testing my skills by making suppers from scratch. This learning process was more important when I discovered how much I enjoyed baking. From scratch when oodles of recipes were available that I call “easy layering.”

Here’s an example. In a 9 X 13 pan, pat a layer of graham cracker crumbs mixed with a 1/3 cup of melted butter. (Not a real recipe, I just made this up)

Take one package of instant vanilla pudding mixed with milk and pour on top the crust.

Slice 4 bananas on top of the pudding.

Layer a tub of Cool whip on top of the bananas.

Drizzle a half can of Hershey’s syrup on the top.

Sprinkle a few graham cracker crumbs on top of the chocolate.

Chill and serve.

This is exactly the type of ‘bar’ dessert I didn’t want to make. It wasn’t the layers I actually objected to (I like layers and steps) but the ingredients. Mostly instant stuff and Cool Whip. Just not me. I must admit there are a couple of my recipes I truly love that contain these dreaded ingredients but for the most part what I make is from scratch for supper and dessert.

A fun, delicious dessert called “Dirt,” is one recipe I’ve used since my friend Diane brought it over for a barbecue during the late 80’s. What I assumed was a fresh potted planter of tulips was indeed our dessert for the meal. Layers of crushed Oreos, pudding and milk mixed with cream cheese, gummy worms, cool whip with silk tulips. So realistic. I was intrigued. Here’s the same ingredients but made into a scary cemetery scene for Halloween with our grandson Graham a few years ago.

But while learning the method of scratch cooking, I was also having babies. Three children in ten years, one daughter, 2 sons. Little did I know that by the ages of 9 and 5, those 2 boys could literally eat their weight in food. Every. Single. Day. How do you cook for that? Oh I still made scratch suppers, constant homemade cookies, cupcakes and bars but they needed a meal after school to get by until supper was ready a couple hours later. Yet they all remained slender. If I inhaled the fragrance of food I gained a pound.

And there lies the rub. I couldn’t do it all. Joshua & Adam weren’t halfway full with convenience foods like potato chips, Cheetos, cookies, Little Debbie’s, Hostess cupcakes, Sno balls, Twinkies or anything leftover in the fridge from a day or 2 ago. Plus, it wasn’t really good for them. Their appetites required more. I call them the Chef-Boyardee years. Spaghetti O’s, Ravioli, Beefaroni, Hot Pockets, Kraft mac & cheese. At the time most of these products were about the size of a can of vegetables, not the microwaveable tubs now available. They were loathe to share anything and these skinny boys would eat an entire can each.

Josh (kind of sneaky yet profoundly brilliant) grew weary of going through mountains of the grocery bags after I got home from Meijer (like I might make him put some of the food away) to see what type of vittles he had to live off before his regular 3 squares a day and found an easier method of deducing what was available for the next several days. He’d latch on to the grocery receipt. No wonder he’s been so successful. Always an easier way to get the needed results.

I reminisce fondly back on the days when they were little and had voracious appetites. Trying to keep up with their never ending hunger pangs, what was good for them to eat and not so good, plus not going bankrupt while grocery shopping. I miss those Chef-Boyardee days of convenience foods, and making scratch meals for the party of 5…

Our family’s had many blessings this year but also experienced a very significant loss. The loss wasn’t something totally unexpected but a shock nonetheless. We met this guy Josh (not our middle child Joshua but another young man with the same cool name). Let’s just call new Josh JD for less confusion.

We got acquainted with this young man a decade ago when our oldest granddaughter Ariana and JD started dating. JD worked at U of M (boo-hiss said every loyal Iowa Hawkeye fan) in the IT department, about 30 miles away but lived near us in Jackson with his mom. He was handsome, polite and doted on Ari. About 18 months into their relationship Ari discovered she was pregnant. They were both in their mid-20’s, mature and seemed unlikely that anything could hinder their engagement and upcoming foray into marriage and parenthood. Becoming a great grandmother was awesome. Jovi Marie was born (full grown-just ask Ari) in early 2017. Life for them and the rest of the family was good. That euphoria however was not about to last.

I don’t know exactly how many times in the 8 years since Jovi’s birth JD has been picked up for impaired driving or been under the influence of drugs. I guess the defining/declining moment was when JD discovered his 51 year-old mom dead when he got home from work one day about 6 years ago. It had always been the 2 of them (she adored him but was also an enabler and condoned his behavior). He simply fell apart. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Ari and Jovi, but he was so deep in misery and depression he just couldn’t stay clean.

JD would spend weeks in rehab, find his way back to life with his little family, change the negatives in his life and start over. Three years ago he wanted to add a pet to the family. He bought a King Charles Cavalier, named her Winnie and thought it would bring him, Ari and Jovi closer. But Winnie had a thing or 2 to say about that. She had one master who she loved with all her little heart and it was JD. There was no compromise, she was JD’s dog. They lived together, ate the same food (often off the same plate) and there was always a spot on JD’s bed for 16 pound Winnie.

JD desperately wanted Ari and Jovi to move in with him so he had his house remodeled with a super cool bedroom for Jovi. But soon he would be back in rehab, his car impounded and driver’s license taken away, Winnie spending time, patiently waiting for her master’s return. More fingers than on one hand Ari watched the guy she loved spiral into the depths. It was hard watching how much she loved him and how many chances she gave. She was gutted. But her top priority was now Jovi. She had to do what was best for their daughter. She just couldn’t deal with all the uncertainty, highs, lows and chaos involving JD on a daily basis anymore.

They still loved each other, she gave him all the support she could, but their lives were separate. Ari’s mental health and safety in raising Jovi had top priority from now on. JD understood but any semblance of a normal life quickly vanished. He truly had lost his way and would not, could not find his way back.

Ari kept tabs on JD, bringing over groceries, food, taking him to appointments as his overall health declined (serious liver problems requiring hospitalization) visiting with Jovi if he wasn’t high, cleaning up after Winnie. One day in early February Ari realized she hadn’t heard from JD in a couple days. She called but he didn’t answer. She panicked and called the cops, asking for a welfare check because she was afraid of what she might find. It was bad. He had accidentally overdosed right after the last time they had spoke. And Winnie was with her deceased master that whole time, lots of trauma for the pup. (It was like JD had known, there was a huge bowl of Winnie food and water in the house, and messes everywhere).

JD died about a week before he turned 36. Devastating time for the girls. And Winnie was lost without her master. A couple weeks later Ari asked if we could take Winnie? (We haven’t had a pet for 20 years). “Absolutely not,” I said. “We can’t afford a pet, I hear from all the kids how much those vet bills and food costs are. No, no, no.” Did anybody hear or listen to me? Apparently not.

We. Have. A. Dog. Named. Winnie. (She’s a hoot!) It’s taken some time but all the love Winnie felt for JD, she has quietly lavished on the Hubs. Sure, I make her homemade dog food (brown rice, sweet potatoes, carrots, green beans, diced chicken, sausage, but she is once again a one-man-dog.

The year has been a painful learning experience for a loss of the man Ari devoted her life and heart to. For a young girl who lost her father before she turned a decade. They talk about him all the time. Jovi recently asked me if she ever sat in an antique high chair sitting in my living room? I told her all the time when she was little and went to the pictures on my iPad. Literally dozens of pictures of suppers at our house with Jovi chowing down, sitting in that high chair. Many right next to her daddy at the table. Jovi was so happy looking at those pictures, “look at my little feet, standing on my daddy’s big feet and we’re dancing!” She’d giggle and look at the next photo. Tears were streaming down my face, yet Jovi only saw the joy and love between her and her daddy. Life was good. He loved her so much, and she could see that, over and over again…

Mom used a lot of different words. Not bad language but words and phrases she grew up hearing/using from her Dutch grandparents. (Her mom died when twins Florence Elaine and Floyd Duane were less than 2 weeks old). Their father, Gerrit (Lakey) was unprepared to raise a set of newborn twins, thus both sets of grandparents fought (amicably) to raise them. Paternal’s won out (bigger house, maybe a bit more money) but the twins grew up spending a lot of time with both sets as they lived only a few blocks from each other.

I’ve talked about the Dutch slang mom (and the rest of us) used throughout our lives, even blogged about the common or funny ways those odd words described things. While my dad called me ‘Squirt’ when I was little, mom called me her ‘klane-a-maachje’ (little girl).

When I was 4-1/2, my parents bought a house about a mile from the house I was born in. Close to the business district of our then 1,500 populated metropolis, it was one of the oldest houses in town. There was much work to be done, the kitchen held no cupboards or sink, the bathroom was primitive but dad was handy and did most of the work himself.

The dining room was the highlight for mom. It wasn’t a room we would use everyday but we walked through it to get anywhere else in the house constantly. Before long she would shop in Sioux Center (her hometown) at Vander Ploeg’s Furniture to buy a hutch, round table with four chairs, a bookcase (to hold our World Book encyclopedias so I’d manage to pass some classes) and a grandmother clock (a bit small than traditional grandfather’s). All from early American hard rock maple. She loved everything about the room we would spend the least amount of time in.

It was a large room with 3 windows, our front door, a doorway to the small kitchen and a door leading upstairs which resembled a ladder. Yikes. Another open double doorway led to the square living room, but it was the beautiful, narrow old oak floor that won her heart. She dusted it on hands and knees EVERY MORNING, gathering a tiny amount of dirt and sand between her thumb and index finger. She waxed it with paste wax, let that dry then used a polisher/buffer until that floor blinded you with a sheen I’ve not seen since. Can’t tell you how many times I slipped walking through that room, but she was so proud of that floor. And she never fell, neither did dad. Huh.

Although it was far from her favorite saying, she used it often when I or one of my friends got in the vicinity of THE FLOOR. If you used the front door or wanted to go upstairs, to the kitchen, bathroom, living room, garage or back yard YOU HAD TO WALK THROUGH THE DINING ROOM. This was her mantra. “Stop sluffing (not shuffling) your feet. You’re gonna scratch the floor. Please take off your shoes.” (All in one breath). My friend Diane Wilson was the worst sluffer who spent time on mom’s oak floor. If mom came home from work she’d park in the garage, walk through the kitchen, glance at ‘the floor’, turn to me and say, “Diane was here today.”

Now every time I type the word ‘sluff,’ autocorrect changes it to stuff, not recognizing that Dutch phrase that was common in our house. I hadn’t thought about that for decades. (I have 2 full pages of Dutch slang written down and sluffing is not a word among them).

But as of late I’ve been sluffing my feet (just the left one to be exact), so mom’s cautionary/accusatory quote has been on my mind often.

Had my second knee replacement a month ago. Really thought I could complete this life with one new and one original knee but obviously God is not done with me yet. My quality of life was miserable, limping, waking up every time I moved my leg at night so went back to Dr. Carpenter in July and scheduled surgery. Amazingly this one hasn’t been as bad but I am 6 years older and not recovering nearly as fast. After 4 weeks I’m only at a 90 degree bend and my balance is dicey at best. (Meniere’s Syndrome, which affects my balance, associated with my significant hearing loss) so the walker is still being utilized, much to my dismay. Then I remember what Carpenter said as I was leaving the hospital. “You have one job, don’t fall!” I did buy a cane and started using it in the house, but as of now I’m not a confident walker.

Still there’s some upside to this. I am not suffering from a lot of pain and happy that surgery is in my rear view. However I am easily fatigued and often nap DURING THE DAY! I am doing some cooking and have baked a few things, even ventured down the basement a couple times so life is slowly getting back to normal. It’s just taking longer than I like and I’m not very patient. Can’t wait until physical therapy is done, (geez I hate it) but realize it’s the best way to insure that my knee will eventually bend and my stride will look somewhat normal. Until then I will be sluffing along (think Tim Conway on Carol Burnett), managing to scratch my floor without falling on my face, so be of good cheer…