It’s been a long 2 weeks. We hired a local crew to pick up our measly 14,000 pounds of stuff from a storage unit 18 miles away. They brought about 2/3 of it one day in a straight truck. Decided not to go back for what remained, but had it here by noon the following day. John insisted I literally stand on the deck and dictate where each piece of furniture, every antique, the miscellaneous 200 boxes, and 50 containers should be placed. (Might have a bit of scaling back to do again in the future. Perhaps a ton or so). Plus I was trying to set up my new, smaller kitchen. Sounds like a perfect storm brewing.

 

A pittance of what belongs in my kitchen…

About a dozen antique pieces had been in our former master bedroom (the size of Delaware) for the last 2 decades, so naturally I directed those pieces to be put in what would eventually be our bedroom. But this bedroom is about 1/2 the size as North Muskegon. It filled quickly. Massive oak antiques. I was determined to keep 3 particular pieces besides our king size bed and night stands. A couple of dandy dressers. And I had my heart set on keeping this one big wardrobe. A beauty. Since our spare bedroom is decent sized, I wanted it with our 7 foot oak double bed.

 

We’ve had this gorgeous piece over 30 years…

 

The moving crew could not get the wardrobe (Saran wrapped like a mummy) around the corner from the hallway though. So they plopped it in the already crowded master. Blocking any chance of getting around it to reach the 4 box wardrobes holding all of our clothes. Remember, it’s now been almost 2 months and I’m still wearing the same few crappy outfits I packed in August.

 

Beautiful, massive oak wardrobe simply does not fit in this house. Bummer…

 

Had I been using the brain God gave me, I would have known this spelled disaster. But by day 2, I was numb and dumb. Why in heaven’s name did I have all the furniture packed in that room? We had decided that the wall between it and the third bedroom was going to be knocked out? How is the contractor supposed to work around all that crap if I can’t even get to my clothes? Well, I couldn’t worry about that room just yet, as he wasn’t due to start that project for a couple weeks. I was concerned about getting the kitchen and family room is some kind of order. So we could at least live here.

I was carefully mulling where and how to fill my cupboards. The drawers were surprisingly easy in my decision making. Why? Because I have 2. Not a typo, you read it right, 2. And one is the size of my granddaughter Ari’s waist.

 

Ari. Wow. She is tiny, but fierce…

 

That’s where I’ll put the pot holders and trivets. I’m not counting the 2 teensy-weensy drawers below the sink. They’ll each hold a couple of chore girls, max. But the other drawer is quite large. A quick count on the drawers in former kitchen totaled 13 in my head. My, my what to do with the other 11 drawers of boxed items, itching to go into my kitchen. Well, there is this smallish room off the dining room. I call it the pantry. Four large cupboards and 2 drawers. A nice counter, and a back door leading outside. Only about a dozen steps away from my sink. A nice big, under utilized closet. Even I can see the closet has wasted space up the ying-yang. So I enlisted the help of the closet guru of the family. Tech wizard, Josh. He’s going to figure out the placement of some more shelves, thus fulfilling my newly named room. Can’t decide if I need to put canned goods or small appliances like the waffle iron, and crockpots in there. Hope both can be managed like an arranged marriage. Hey, they don’t have to love each other right away.

 

Awesome but still cluttered pantry…

 

Back to the helter-skelter-bedroom mess. We hired a guy to knock out a wall between the 2 smaller bedrooms. Making the master sort of L-shaped. We could have gone the other way, making the room a larger rectangle, but then the spare bedroom would be very, very small. My vision of a lovely 7 foot oak headboard, plus the massive wardrobe smashed against each other was not very appealing. The 2 pieces had yet to spend one night together. Where was the flirting, wooing, the mating dance? That’s when the Hubs threw me a zinger. When Duke (not THE DUKE, he’s dead, but the construction dude, Duke) tore out the wall, but before he closed off the second doorway, we could scoot (right, it weighs like a ton) the wardrobe into the spare room. But after Duke closed off that door, the wardrobe was never coming back out of that room. Just when she and the 7 footer (bed) were getting cozy. I actually started a mild-to-middling panic attack. No, that wouldn’t do. After a few days we had our son-in-law Tracey, (he was so relieved we were finally out of his hair, he was happy to help for a few minutes. A not so subtle play on words, as he shaves his handsome head). Plus our incredibly cute, strong grandson Landon and his buddy Harry lug the wardrobe out to the garage. And that folks is why arranged marriages rarely work out for the best.

 

Living room remained packed tight for a week…

 

Out of 200 boxes, 50 containers, the moving elves had arranged with relative ease, finding the boxes containing Blue Delft, Waterford Crystal and Lladro. I put the boxes right by my 2 curved glass secretaries and curved glass china closet. The shelves to all 3 cabinets remained in seclusion for several days by the resident poltergeist. Not funny Durwood (poltergeist’s affectionate name). I have since found 2 sets of the shelves. Washed all the Delft and Lladro figurines, but the Waterford is still boxed on hold for the cleanse. I know I had Saran wrapped all the shelves from each cabinet together. The first moving squad must have plunked most of them in flat picture/mirror boxes. I was not made aware of that little move. I went through about 8 of those boxes today, but have yet come up with that last set of shelves.

 

China closet shelves finally made an appearance. Blue Delft is back home…

 

More than likely this means they’re in the garage. Ugh. Boy oh boy, the garage is really a hell of a mess. Might be another few days. It’s the domino affect. Have to wait for Duke to stop adding layers of mud, sanding, more mud (not really mud at all, it’s white and eliminates seeing seams, cracks on his newly minted wall and non-wall). He might be a perfectionist in this department. Once he’s finished, we order new carpet, paint the ceiling, then the walls with Kilz. A primer type paint to take care of the red and navy walls of one room and the pink/purple/walls and castle. Complete with a dragon protecting the castle. Kind of sad to paint over that. Ok, I’m over it. Let’s paint. Then we can move antiques, brass head and footboard, king size mattress and box springs from the garage, maybe leaving enough room for the Jeep (in the garage, not the bedroom) before the snow flies.

 

You can catch the dragon’s tail sliding behind the U-haul box…

 

This saga continues with yet another chapter soon. I know I’ve been lax about writing. It’s not that I don’t want to write, but I’ve been pulled in too many different directions. And my concentration level is nil. I wrote a comment on someone’s post a few days ago that I’ve come to the conclusion I am not a 10 minute writer. Takes me that long to formulate my first sentence. A dozen times and different ways. Usually consisting of about 3 words. If I don’t have a couple hours to really get a story going, I just can’t commit. It will get better, I hope. Or my stories will dwindle to nothingness. Hope not.

 

My lovely back yard maple just starting to turn…

 

A few words about the Hubs. Sigh. He’s actually had a really rough couple of months. First, he who never, ever has back issues, threw out his back while we were sweating to the oldies packing in August. Severely hampering our timeline. He’s been my muscle for a half century. I was completely befuddled on what and how to do things without much of his help. His concentration level was far worse than my mixed up, muddled mind. Too much to do, not enough time (though we’d been waiting for this moment for 3 years to move). Plus the biggie weighing on both of our minds. Holy shit, we got nowhere to go. Hmm.

 

Our hedge at the back of our lot. Stunning colors…

 

Fast forward. Living with Shannon and crew. 3/4 of a ton safely stored because of quick thinking Tracey who knew a guy. Yeah, that kind of thing. We bought a home needing some work (loosely using this term. Good house, but a horrible mess). We’re both working on it very hard everyday. Ordering carpets, painting. John’s doing repair work. Holes in the walls, small leak from the water heater. Another leak from the toilet (only good thing about the bathroom, which still needs a major remodel). But he’s seriously missing tools because we don’t have our 14,000 pounds of much needed stuff yet. So he’s using the wrong tool and gouges his thumb with a carpet knife. What the knife had been used on before was not a good thought. We bandage his thumb a couple times because it keeps bleeding through. (Note to Neese: take him in for stitches next time). Of course, soon the thumb was swollen about twice the size, is bright red and throbbing painfully. Quick trip to a med station. Two prescriptions, but it would be a good 10 days before that wound closed. So Hubs could not do anything like saw, use a screwdriver, drill or hammer. Sigh.

 

Trying out the griddle on my new gas stove. I like it…

 

His thumb is better. Peeled like he sunburned it good, but he was back in business. Except for his lame back. But it too was getting better. Enter a mild, obnoxious cough. Sigh. (Honestly, how many times can I sigh in one post)? Hubs had a scratchy throat, runny nose and this cough. Which got worse and worse. And worse. (I think the answer is for us to find a new primary care doc. Then we’ll never need him). I finally laid down the law, said he had to be seen by someone, so another trip to the med station. (It kinda sounds like I’m describing a clumsy pre-schooler). The good news. Doctor said he was about a day away from pneumonia and a hospital stay. Acute bronchitis. Ugh. Nothing remotely cute about it. Three prescriptions this trip. Yup, things are looking up. For a spell this week, I swear he did not stop coughing for 48 hours straight. I do see tiny improvements. Hasn’t been able to do anything, but his voice is better, and he’s sleeping better. Coughing a bit less. A very tiny bit less.

 

25 bucks a quart guaranteed to cover my hopeless purple door with 1 coat. Liars…

 

So I’ve had to step up to the plate. With tools in my hands, I’m a disaster. But I have managed a couple of projects. After 3 years in storage, I finally found my balls! Gorgeous Waterfords which hung in my bay window until we cleared our “for sale” home of any Neese personality. Now look how I’m hung!! And I did it all myself. Quite proud of this little endeavor.

 

The balls were once more hanging in the window with care. In hopes that a realtor never comes near…

 

 

Something that John usually handles is running around. Picking up this, that and the other thing. Well this week, I’ve had to do all the schlepping. Light bulbs, paint, tools, outlet covers, not the most fun shopping. Yesterday was one such trip. I got him settled in his chair with cough syrup, inhaler, hot tea. I zoomed off to get cellular shades and some groceries. As God is my witness this is 5 minutes worth of texts during my little trip between us. Yup, sick as a dog, about 50 years after first laying eyes on him, Hubs continues to make me laugh. At times…

 

Hubs speak is gray. Me cracking up is in blue…

 

 

 

 

Ok kids, raise your hand if you enjoy upheaval and major changes in your life. Right, me either. Until recently. I was so eagerly anticipating this move, it was hard not be bubbling with enthusiasm. Those feelings waned rather quickly in 90 degree heat. Packing stuff ourselves. Which wasn’t a first in our long marriage, but we hadn’t done that part of moving for 40 years. Always completed and paid for by the company who had just hired Hubs. The kicker was we had no “next place” lined up where to hang our hats. That was an uncomfortable first.

 

Have not missed this house for 1 second since we moved…

So it’s been 40 days. And 40 nights. Sounds almost biblical. We bid on a house as the movers were loading up our belongings in North Muskegon. A smaller home with several cosmetic issues. One of the homely stepsisters. Inside and out. But the outtie will have to wait until spring. New driveway, landscaping will help a lot. John decided if he puts weed killer on the lawn, all he’ll have left is dirt. Mr. Anal-Lawn-Dude will be busy for the next couple of summers trying to perfect his lawn. Installing a sprinkling system will do wonders.

 

So long west Michigan…

 

On the whole though, the house is in great shape. Good bones I guess. Pella Windows. New 2-1/2 stall garage. The place just needed a complete makeover really. What not to wear. Immediate needs were new appliances, carpet, flooring, and paint, paint and more paint. I ended up doing the living room and hallway 3 times. Gave it one coat, did the trim where the roller doesn’t reach twice and was running low on paint. Got another gallon which proved to be a couple shades lighter than the first gallon. Grrr, so frustrating. Painted the walls a second coat and the non roller trim again. Twice. Hubs sauntered in, said, “looks awesome Hon, but the room’s definitely shrunk 3 inches.” Smart ass.

 

I have however really missed windy days watching Lake Michigan. Jeremy Church pic on 10-20-15…

 

Actually, the whole house deal went surprisingly fast. Once we learned who we were dealing with. Intrusive, over-powering, big government. Ugh. The first time we submitted the longish 50 page offer, I accidentally forgot to sign my middle initial (no, not my middle finger, didn’t want to piss them off) for one of 40 times required. Whole thing got sent back with a stern note stating unless it was properly signed sealed, delivered (I’m your man) within 24 hours, the house went back on the market. Two days later, the whole 50 pages came back for a second time. Our realtor had signed her name where required for about as many times. But in one of those spots, both Hubs and I were required to initial where she had signed. So we lost about a week with piddly shit that didn’t matter.

 

Lake Michigan by North Muskegon, 2015…

 

I think it was a test. To see if we had the muster to put up with their piddly shit. We did. Yay. After that, things did go pretty fast. Three weeks later we were closing. Which took all of 20 minutes. As my reward, I snagged 3 Tootsie Roll Pops out of the kids basket, which I guess was really meant for kids. Who brings kids to a title office? As I deftly slid them in my purse, I noticed one was raspberry. Shoot, thought I had cherry. Didn’t have the nerve to turn around, walk back and exchange it in front of several adults. Nuts, can’t even swipe the right flavors. John was awarded a spiffy new yardstick advertising the Title Company. Probably with hopes that he use it on his unruly companion. We were assured the deed to the house would be forthcoming. I was so excited about the deed. Thought it might be reminiscent of an old time marriage certificate that would warrant a fancy mat and frame. It arrived via snail mail 2 weeks later. Non-descript legal envelope containing two folded, stapled plain white pieces of paper. No fancy calligraphy, just laser printed. With a seal of some sort making it look halfway legal. That was a huge disappointment. Won’t be hanging that puppy on any wall. But it is our home, free and clear. Yay, Neese and John.

Like I said, when we packed it was late August, humid and hotter and than Hades. Anticipating exactly what I’d need for a questionable length of time wasn’t even on my radar. In my biggest suitcase I plopped 4 pair of capris, maybe 8 T-shirts, one pair of jeans, a light jacket, couple of pair of Keens, one pair of shoes, socks and undies. Good grief, I’m so sick of wearing the same boring misfits over and over. Plus I had to sacrifice one outfit. Paint clothes. Dang it was a nice pair of Nike capris too. But they only have one teensie-weensie pocket that barely holds my ever present Mentholathum Lip Balm. Should have chosen this popular outfit more wisely. I lived in those paint clothes for a fortnight. Scooching my butt along the grubby floors, painting the trim white, twice. Nice. Looking so much better.

 

Travel bottles precariously low with my good smelling hair products…

 

I have a nice travel bag. Holds stuff not in my everyday makeup case. The travel bag is tired and almost bone dry. Normally this gets used when we are gone for a weekend or a few days. So I can use my favorite shampoo, conditioner, hair gel. Most are running on fumes. Each day I wonder if this is the last time I’ll be able to squeeze out a bit more from those small plastic bottles. My great smelling shower gel pooped out on me weeks ago. Bought another travel size of strawberry something. Not the same. Neese not smelling the same. I’m on my third travel size Aveeno lotion. Those tiny bottles crap out after about 3 showers.

 

Tiny bottles of Aveeno last about 3 days…

 

Still, things keep falling into place. We ordered 4 different carpets. Held my breath that none would be back ordered. Told the gal at the store if any were to call me and I’d pick out something else. Not waiting around for 3 months for one particular pattern/color to come in. I’m not that fussy. The normal time frame is 7-10 business days for special orders. Got a call on day 7, everything was in and they could install the next day. You know, I really needed to take more before and after pictures. But I couldn’t. The carpet and walls were in such bad/sad shape, I just didn’t have the heart to document it. I will tell you this was the dining room carpet. At one time it had been beige. It’s black. With a huge strip of colorful tape in the middle of the room. Designating where one should stand when throwing at the dart board on the dining room wall. Peppered with 50 holes. I’m embarrassed, yet none of it was my fault. How fricking crazy is that?

 

Yucky carpet with tape so we can throw darts. Replaced before any neat Neese stuff hit the door…

 

Each day headway has been made. One room at a time the house is starting to look ever so much better. We’ve met several of our neighbors. Pat told us years ago our house was the nicest one in the neighborhood. Well, we got a little ways to go to reach that high popularity status again. We also found a picture of the place when it was much newer. It was beautifully landscaped. Our luck, all had been yanked except for weeds. But new landscaping will make it more of our own. The front storm door was literally hanging on by a thread when we took possession. A wind storm had trashed it, tossing glass all over. John pitched the door on day one, and I finally cleaned up as much of the glass as I could with a broom and dust pan yesterday. We bought new storm doors for the front and back, but will wait until the movers are done unloading.

 

How can my hair look great without gel. And my glasses kept free and clear without these necessities?

 

Looks as though our days of sponging off our kids are drawing to a close. Yes, what you just heard across hundreds or thousands of miles were huge sighs of relief coming from everyone involved. They have been extremely patient and kind. But we are ready and eager to make this little house our home. We lost about 800 square feet. Which we hadn’t used much in North Muskegon for the past several years. But each square foot was stuffed pretty full. Where exactly we put 14,000 pounds of miscellaneous Neese junk, antiques, food, canning supplies, and collectibles has yet to be determined. Stay tuned Hawkeye fans…

 

7 and 0 baby. This week is a bye, we need the rest….

 

 

Although we loved living near the Mississippi River in Davenport Iowa, a couple of pretty bizarre events occurred while we were part of that community. Guess it’s only logical once you figure the numbers game. Take my little town of Rock Valley, where I grew up. The town consisted of about 2,500 folks. You could safely assume a few of them were whack jobs.The population of Davenport in the mid 80’s was around 100,000 people. Equals out to lots more nut jobs. Not trying to be disrespectful. These were some seriously mentally ill individuals. Here’s my memories of 2 tragedies that happened while we lived there.

 

One of several bridges crossing the Mississippi from Davenport…

The first odd ball (murdering scoundrel) was a chiropractor. I remember their home resembled a castle. It was big, new and had a really neat looking turret. His name was Jim and his wife’s name was Joyce. Before I moved to the Quad Cities, Joyce had subbed on one of the bowling leagues I would soon join. Joyce disappeared in March of 1983. About a month later, a couple of boating fishermen were enjoying a fine spring day on the Mississippi when they noticed something jammed up against the shore. Turned out to be a torso. Holy moly. It was Joyce. The crazy husband, Dr. Jim was arrested. Later found guilty of second degree murder. Killing, dismembering Joyce with a chain saw and dumping her parts in the Mississippi. I don’t believe any of her other parts or the chain saw were ever found. He served 20 years of his 50 year sentence.

 

Joyce Klindt, 33 before her untimely death…

 

Released in 2004, Jim moved back to Davenport and lived with his now elderly parents. Was arrested numerous times during the next decade. Drugs, domestic disturbance (not against his parents, thank heavens, but a girl friend). Allegedly took a nasty spill at home early in 2014, hitting a piece of furniture on the way to the floor. Died a couple days later at age 62. End of the road for Jim.

Happy days for Jim Klindt, freedom…

 

I don’t remember exactly how we hooked up with Doug. My guess is he ran an ad in the Quad City Times that I noticed. Or someone recommended him to us. We were fairly new to the city. Shannon was 11, Joshua was 7 and Adam was 3. We needed a doctor and dentist for starters. Found a family physician nearby named Harold Miller who was fabulous. Our new dentist, Doug Castleberry was a bit farther away. We all liked him immediately. He was good with the kids, and not much older than us. Had his own practice, and a great staff.

My life back then was very different than the one I have now. Busy stay at home mom of 3. I was out and about all the time. One, 2 or all of the kids had to be driven here or there. One needed new shoes from Northpark Mall, one had baseball practice, or play dates too far away to walk (but that’s not what they were called back then). Grocery shopping was non stop. We were constantly running low on food in our house cause the kids ate, well constantly. I bowled on a couple leagues, played double deck Euchre regularly with a fabulous group of gals. There weren’t many days that I didn’t have to do one or several of the following. Haul, drag, chaperone, coerce kids for doctor appointments, haircuts, carpooling or shopping. Occasionally I even managed go out for Chinese food at lunch with a friend.

 

Shannon, 12, Adam 4, Joshua 8, Davenport, 1983…

 

Dr. Castleberry was married to a pharmacist. She worked in a hospital across the river (Quad-City-speak. Davenport and Bettendorf were on the Iowa side of the Mississsippi, Rock Island and Moline on the Illinois side. Voila, you now have the Quad Cities). I never met her, but vaguely remember her name might have been Arlene. Doesn’t really matter. But the name Arlene keeps popping in my head when I think about the Castleberry’s.

 

The Mighty Mississippi from the Iowa side…

 

Imagine living in a city like Davenport, plus the other 3 cities that make up the Quad. So total about a half million people. You’d be hard pressed to ever think you might run into ANYONE you knew. But I did. I vividly recall running into Doug several times over the course of 2 or 3 years. Always seemingly innocently having lunch or a couple of drinks after work with his dental assistant. A gal named Jackie. She was adorable. I might be an Iowa hick, but after running into them more than twice, I knew something was going on between them. Geez, half looped on nitrous oxide at his office, I could see the sparks fly between them with a wad of cotton and novocaine stuck in my mouth.

So this happened during spring break a couple years later. The kids all had appointments for dental checkups and cleanings. We were about to leave for Dr. Castleberry’s office when I got a phone call. It was his office. Arlene had called the office and left a message during the weekend, telling them Doug been called out of town due to the sudden death of one of his college roommates. He’d be back in town in a couple of days. Would it be ok if we rescheduled the appointments later in the week? Not a problem. Although the kids liked Dr. Castleberry, no dentist appointment was still better than going to the dentist. Especially during spring break. But a couple days later, Doug was still not back to work, so we moved their appointments to a later date again.

 

Mississippi…

 

Jackie did not have a good feeling about this situation. No way Doug would not call her himself and explain what happened and when exactly he’d be back in the office. This particular weekend was very important to both of them. Doug was finally going to tell Arlene he wanted a divorce. Jackie was a huge part of the reason but certainly not all of it. Doug was unhappily married to an unstable person. He decided long before Jackie that he was not going to continue living like this.

 

Bridging the Mississippi…

 

Jackie convinced a coworker to go with her to the Castleberry house. She wanted to make sure everything was ok. No one answered the numerous phone calls or had spoken to either one of them since Arlene had called explaining Doug’s sudden absence. As they pulled up to the house, both gals noticed several days worth of mail and newspapers laying on the front steps. Not a good sign. No one answered their repeated knocking at the door. Jackie, a petite little thing hoisted herself up on the other gal’s shoulders and peeked in the window. What she saw was devastating. Arlene was slouched on a kitchen chair, with her head laying on the table. What in the world had happened? And where was Doug? Near hysterics, they ran to a neighbor’s house and called the police.

Once the cops arrived, Jackie and the co-worker were not allowed to enter the house. Doug was found in their bedroom. He had been shot several times with a 357 Magnum. After piecing the story together, it seems that Doug had finally worked up the courage to break the news to Arlene. Their marriage was over. He was leaving. Arlene saw things differently. She decided if she couldn’t have Doug, Jackie certainly couldn’t either. She emptied the gun to prove that point. Then fabricated the “death of a college buddy” giving her some time. But there really was no way out of this mess for her. I believe in her mind, justice had been served. She swallowed a boatload of pills that ended her life soon after she ended Doug’s.

 

The view of Davenport from the River…

 

Two freaky, sad, bizarre, senseless murders. Three deaths. Four if you count Jim taking a dive. Jim and Joyce’s violent ordeal made national news and headlines for days. But I didn’t know either of them. Never bowled with Joyce or saw Jim as a chiropractor. If they had children, they were not friends, acquaintances or attended the same school as our kids. Although I really only knew Doug as our dentist, he seemed like my friend. His death was very hard on the kids. Explaining death to children is a tough enough subject to tackle. A violent death to someone they personally knew and liked was almost unfathomable. Holy cow, it was hard enough for John and I to accept. The Castleberry tragedy was not handled on the same sensational scale as the Klindt case. Not a lot of news coverage like the Klindt murder a couple years before. But for me, the Castleberry’s deaths were much more tragic and personal. For our whole family…