I equate this little blip in the long marriage to Hubs like buying a 3 dollar ticket for a quickie trip aboard the SS Minnow. You know, just a 3 hour tour. Iowa’s economy was in the tank in 1986. About the first time ever we had to consider moving out of the state. We had looked at Minnesota and South Dakota during our first 2 decades of wedded bliss, yet every time John looked for another’s job or was downsized, somehow we always managed to stay in Iowa. Never gave it much thought that we would ever leave. And if we did leave, surely we would return when Iowa’s economy rebounded.

We thought our gig in Michigan would be temporary…

Never in my wildest dreams did I think Michigan would become home ‘home.’ I’m an Iowan, not a Michigander or Michiganian. Those aren’t even real words are they? We had never planted very deep, or long lasting roots, moving around Iowa for about 20 years after we got hitched. Yet, we landed in Jackson, Michigan in February, 1987. Thirty years ago this week. I wanted to stay in Big 10 country. But I never thought it would become our permanent home.

Our first house in Jackson, 1987…

None of us were exactly thrilled with another move. We all loved Davenport, especially Shannon and I. We had the most to lose. Shannon had just turned 16 and gotten her license. She was popular, a cheerleader, taking accelerated classes and had a cool boyfriend. I had a group of friends like I’d never had before or since. Yup, we were both devastated. Joshua was 11, Adam was 7, both were pretty loosey-goosey. John had been working in Michigan for a few months already. He flew back to Iowa every couple weeks or we’d come to Michigan for a long weekend. Staying at the Holiday Inn was a big treat for all of us except John, who was tired of hotel life. The pool, room service, a restaurant, big perks for young boys who were easily impressed. And always hungry.

Adam and Josh right after we moved to Michigan, 1987…

I already told you the story about our house and neighborhood, so I’m not going to rehash that. The rambling ranch was about 25 years old with an acre lot, on the outskirts of Jackson. About a week after we moved (mid-February) my sister-in-law Mary Jane called to see how the unpacking was progressing. We had tons more snow on the ground than Iowa did at the time, but that first weekend after our move, it was sunny and 60 something. Told her that I had plopped my camping cot on the back step and was laying out in the sun. Surrounded by snow and with my socks on. A week later and another 18 inches of snow would curtail this activity for quite a few weeks.

The family when we arrived in Michigan, 1987…

Second grader Adam said one of the the cutest things after moving to Jackson. Must have been in late March or early April. The days and nights were finally getting warmer, and during breakfast one morning he happened to look out of the dining room window and stated incredulously, “Mom, I didn’t know we had grass under all that snow!”

Joshua and Adam in our hot tub on McCain Road, 1990…

With every year that passes, I grow ever closer to the point where I’ve lived more of my life in Michigan than my beloved Iowa. All the deep rooted feelings I have for my home state haven’t garnered the hearts of my kids. When I look at it from their perspective, it’s understandable. But from a mom who remains homesick for her home state, I can’t fathom that Michigan is much more their home than Iowa. Goodness, Adam’s lived here 4 times longer than he did in Iowa. How is that even possible? So how in the world did a 5 year pit stop turn into 30 years? It doesn’t feel like it’s been 30 years. Maybe 10. Father Time always seems to be running fast when I want him to run just a bit behind schedule for a change.

Grandma Mag visiting us in Jackson. With Adam and Josh, 1989…

My granddaughter Ariana just became a mommy. I told her the last month of pregnancy was endless, but afterwards life goes at warp speed. She swore the time was standing still. And it does feel like that when you’re 9 months pregnant and want it over so badly. This week, our little princess Jovi is 3 weeks old already, when it seems like she was born yesterday.

Our newest member, Jovi Marie, 3 weeks old, 2017…

The Michigan adventure has been very good for and to us. It’s pretty unusual for a family with 3 grown children, in laws, 4 grandchildren and 1 great grand living relatively close. We’re all within about 60 miles from each other, but it’s not like we see them constantly. We give them space and they do the same for us. But it’s been really neat to be in the middle of things after living 175 miles west of them for 20 years. Watching Graham in a pinch and working on craft projects, driving Peyton and Landon here and there. Seeing Jovi every few days instead of once a month. Things we couldn’t do when we were in North Muskegon.

I love watching Peyton dance…

I believe if the kids were scattered all over the United States, we certainly would not be spending our retirement in mid-Michigan. And as much as I adore Iowa, their weather leaves much to be desired. I’m not sure that’s where we’d be hanging our hats either. Probably somewhere where 40 degrees is a low, but not too hot either. Moot point. No place on earth we’d rather be than right here.

Nothing better than watching Landon play ball, 2016…

Although our kids have all lived more years in Michigan than Iowa, they certainly aren’t cemented in Michigan. I’m kind of surprised they all stayed here this long. Two of the kids are business owners, so doubtful either would just up and move across the country. Adam is head chef at a fancy restaurant in Ann Arbor. His restaurant is owned by a corporation, he could possibly move just about anywhere. But since our whole family is a stones throw away, so is Sarah’s. They love Graham’s school, just bought a home, and Sarah’s got a great job so I don’t see them moving anytime soon. More than likely Hubs and I will spend the rest of our days in Michigan. If I live long enough where my Iowa/Michigan balance of years lived swings towards the mitten state, (which isn’t that far away-a mere 8 more years) I’m good with that. But my heart will always belong to Rock Valley and the great state of Iowa…

Graham fishing with Adam, 2016…

It’s been 2 weeks and I’ve not been able to stop singing the lyrics from ‘I’m a Believer’ by the Monkees. I might have an issue. And it started long before meeting my brand new great granddaughter Jovi, about the same time. When I laid eyes on her, I immediately thought of the words to this song’s chorus. But this ordeal started 50 years ago when I fell in love with Neil Diamond. Sorry Hubs. The Monkees hit was # 1 for several weeks in 1966. But the song was originally written and sung by Neil.

Which reminded me of the best quotes from one of my favorite movies, What About Bob? Bob (Bill Murray) is a psychiatric patient of Dr. Leo Marvin (Richard Dreyfuss). Doc is getting some history on his new whack job patient, and inquires about Bob’s marital status. This is Bob’s response: “there are 2 types of people in this world. Those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don’t. My ex-wife loves him.” Pretty much sumsup my life for me. I’d be Bob’s ex-wife.

What about Bob? starring Cubs fan, Bill Murray…

I’m a Believer (written by my main squeeze, Neil Diamond)
I thought love was only true in fairy tales,
meant for someone else but not for me.
Love was out to get, that’s the way it seemed,
Disappointment haunted all my dreams.

Josh & Erica at an MSU football game, 2013…

This fairy tale started in 2011. Joshua called and said he was bringing someone home to meet us for Christmas. This wasn’t earth shattering news. He was 35 and dated seriously enough over the years to bring home some gals. But this one seemed different even before we met her. He wanted everything to be perfect. Yeah, good luck with that Josh. We’re a normal, messy family. Well, mostly normal besides this freaky Neil Diamond obsession.

Neil, words not necessary here…

Chorus
Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind.
I’m in love, umm, I’m a believer,
I couldn’t leave her if I tried!

Josh & Erica, a night on the town in Detroit, 2015…

Her name is Erica, and she was close to Josh’s age. Both in their mid-30’s, neither had been married or had children. Odd in this day and age. She was articulate, pretty, funny and smart. Hailing from Pennsylvania and graduating from MSU with a degree in manufacturing engineering. She was a senior engineer at Nissan Corp. in Detroit. Josh had already been a business owner for more than a decade in Detroit. I could see this was serious and special.

They wear happiness well…

Sure enough, a couple months later they were engaged. They knew it and weren’t messing around. They decided on a destination wedding. I never heard of such a thing. Clueless. They originally looked at Cabo, Mexico as their destination, but after checking resorts and flights, started having second thoughts. Not about getting married, no they were hung-ho, but both felt Cabo was kinda pricey. They decided Cancun was less expensive, thus more friends and family could share their day.

Big Spartan fans. Sigh…

The big date was set for November 16, 2012, giving friends and family plenty of time to ‘save the date.’ John and I were really excited about the wedding. We thought Josh was a confirmed bachelor and were happy because he was so happy!

November 16, 2012, Cancun…

Josh and Erica chose an all-inclusive resort called Dreams. Inclusive meaning once you get there, there’s is no reason to ever leave. (So how come I’m no longer there I wonder?) The resort sported several restaurants, 5 rings a bell, ranging from a buffet the size of my house to smaller venues, specializing in seafood or Italian. Plus tiny pub like or tiki bars at 10 foot intervals. A couple of pools, and this amazing body of brilliant blue water called the Caribbean. Wow. Dreams also included a pool where folks could swim with the dolphins. Literally. Landon and Peyton did this. The resort itself was big and included a humongous amount of beach front. End to end, between a quarter to half a mile of sidewalks.

I got this…

The biggest excitement of our fabulous trip happened before we boarded our direct flight to Cancun, which was at 9 am on a Saturday from Detroit Metro. About 200 miles from North Muskegon. Makes for a very early morning, so we decided to stay at a hotel near the airport on Friday night. We were maybe a mile from the airport, the address was Romulus. It’s about 1 am, we’re both sound asleep (I can’t hear squat laying on my good ear and without my hearing aid). John pokes me hard in the ribs and says, “did you just hear gunshots?” Filled with fog I muttered, “ah, no I can’t hear anything. You sure it’s not fireworks?” “No way, I can tell the difference between firecrackers and a 9 millimeter!” He jumps out of bed, strides to the room’s large window (in his undies) and pulls back the drapes. Several thugs are standing by our pickup about 10 feet away, arguing heatedly. He closes the drapes, races over, and starts pulling on clothes. (Hold on there little doggie). The voice of reason (me) convinces him to dial 911 before charging out the door. The 911 dispatcher says cops are already on their way. After breaking up the fight (over girls) most of the group are arrested and hauled away. Somehow sleep would elude us for the rest of the night however. We could have just as well slept in our own bed until 3 and drove to Detroit. Great start for vacation. Next stop, Cancun.

Happy couple in paradise, 11-16-12…

I admit my first morning I was taken aback. I woke at the crack of dawn, waited for light to come and put on my walking duds, headphones and headed outdoors. A big share of the resort was out of doors. Many of the long hallways were not enclosed. Once on the sidewalk but still inside the resort area, I walked until I ran into the last bar. There stood an armed guard in a casual business uniform, hat, walkie-talkie and a gun. He watched me and gave a small nod as I turned around. I saw him say something in the walkie-talkie. As I got closer to the other edge of Dreams, there was another guard with matching paraphernalia. He smiled, nodded and said something into his microphone. Both guards did this every morning, for every lap I walked. Talked back and forth every time I went past. Probably drove them crazy, but made me feel better they were there. I guess there are drug cartels somewhat close, and if you’re gonna pay big bucks to stay at a resort, a nice amenity is to remain safe. And alive.

My favorite shot of Erica in the buffet line, 11-16-12…

Let me share a couple of oddities about this lovely resort. Almost everything that wasn’t sand was covered in beautiful patterns of tile. The long hallways leading to and from different restaurants, pools and bars were not enclosed. They are swept constantly but became slippery when 3 raindrops fell. Pretty sure I can say with certainty, Mexico has no OSHA (Occupational Safety & Health Administration) as part of their government. On these stunning tiled walkways were steps. Randomly placed. You might walk for 30 feet, then encounter 3 small steps going up or down. I cannot remember seeing or using one railing anywhere in the resort. Walk 40 feet and another 2 odd sized steps. To reach the elevator there was about 10 steps before the doors. No railing, but there was a ramp (could have been used for dirt bike trails, it was that steep, causing your rolling suitcase to move at warp speed). None of the steps had any markings whatsoever, which John discovered. By accident. We were on our way for breakfast at the house sized buffet (amazing and delicious, tons of fresh fruit, plus anything else you might want). A couple walking towards us smiled and said hi as they got close. John looked to greet them and missed 2 small steps. Down he went. I believe it was our second day. Sure he cracked a rib, but it could have been worse. But it did hamper some of the things we had planned.

So happy together…

In the huge buffet restaurant there were several beautiful live palm trees. Planted just below the gorgeous tile floor, but without any kind of guard, edge or border. Just went from tile floor to dirt for the tree roots with a 4 inch drop, each about 2 square foot. If you were carrying a plate a food and not watching the floor constantly you were asking for a broken ankle or leg.

Making it legal…

A couple of days before their Friday afternoon wedding, Josh and Erica planned a scuba diving trip. What in heaven’s name ever possessed me to heartily say, “sure I’m in,” I will never know. John said yes too, but after his nasty spill, the 40 pounds of equipment wrapped tight around his chest caused him to back out. Leaving the 3 of us with a young, extremely handsome, professional diver. First we walked out on a very wide, slippery old wooden dock. The water is about 8 feet deep and a very beautiful baby blue this close to shore. This is where we’ll learn how to breathe and maneuver underwater, carrying 40 pounds of oxygen on your back and wearing flippers. Lord, help me here, I might have been a bit hasty in my decision making and thought process. Our handsome hunk guide (forever forward known as HHG) moves from one clueless person to the next. Explaining, encouraging and patiently teaching. Josh seems to ‘get it’ and is doing great, just under the water, moving about gracefully. Jerk. Meanwhile the Beluga whale, also known as Mom, is thrashing hopelessly, helplessly while others are being taught the art of staying alive under water. It’s a beautiful sunny day, with a little wind. Curiously, that bit of wind carries me precariously close to that high, wide dock. Each little wave sends me further from the group. Soon I find myself underneath the dock, very close to our boat which is securely tied about 6 feet away. I try and turn around to see if anyone’s watching Neese disappear or crash into the boat when I glance up. About a foot above my bobbing head, just barely under the dock are spikes. Long, slender nails that keep the dock boards in place. Holy shit. If a wave catches me just right, one of those little puppies could pierce my noggin all the way to my throat. Suddenly I’m sluicing my way backwards to safety by HHG. That was close. Really close. Pretty sure HHG thinks so too. He personally beaches this whale on the boat, takes care of the rest of the divers and crew and away we go.

Water colors were phenomenal…

It’s not a long ride. The water we’re diving in is about 20 feet deep. HHG gently explains we each need to sit on the edge of the boat and fall into 20 foot deep Caribbean Sea. Backwards. Oh my, I surely will never live to tell this tale. But I did. HHG waits until I grab the rope leading us down to the bottom. Erica is right beside me. I never noticed the other paying patrons again except for Josh moving about like a dolphin. Geesh. When Erica and I reached the end of our rope (ha-ha, but did not seem so funny then) HHG grabbed one of my hands and one of Erica’s. He never let go of me. Never. Guess he had a rep to maintain and didn’t want the paperwork involved with my death. (Maybe there would be no paperwork) He cautiously pointed to exquisite fish lazily swimming by, letting go of Erica’s hand for a couple seconds at a time. But never my hand. After the spikes nearly got me, this was a piece of cake. I remember looking up at the water surface and seeing waves ripple by. Which affected the plants swaying. That part was so neat. Loved spotting different fish, the water swaying, the reality that I was walking on the bottom of The Caribbean. (HHG did have to keep pulling me back down. You kinda just start floating up, at least I did or maybe it was part puffer fish panic attack, but I thought I was pretty calm for nearly dying). But it’s not anything I would ever do again. Memorable though. And a good memory.

The Hubs…

One afternoon I was in search of Hubs. He was sitting at a small bar facing the Caribbean, drinking something tinged light green. I sat beside him and he offered me a sip. Most of you know how rarely I drink. Never liked the feeling of not being in control. Or cared for the taste of booze. I took a sip and sputtered, blech, salt. But the drink part was kinda good. John ordered one for me with a sugar rim instead of salt. Tasty. Soon Shannon came and sat beside me. Looked me squarely in the face and queried, “hey mom, are you ok?” “Sure,” I slurred, “I can’t feel my nose.” She grabbed my arm and marched me to our room (oh how times have changed in 30 plus years) where I took a nice, long nap.

Wow…

Of the 45 friends and family vacationing for a wedding, Hubs and I had the nicest room. Best view ever.

The view from our room…

The wedding was lovely, the dinner, and dancing a lot of fun. Two things. I had never before had Tres Leche Cake (milk cake which contains whole, sweetened condensed, evaporated milk and real whipped cream. Delicious doesn’t describe it very well. Or gone into a photo booth wearing goofy garb for silly pictures to capture the moment. I loved both.

Josh schmoozing with Shannon, mom and dad…

Seems like yesterday, but November, 2017 will mark J & E’s 5th anniversary. Thanks for all the great memories guys. Let’s do that again…

My favorite shot of the night, J & E, bumping butts, 11-16-12…

After I gave birth the first time, I swore I would never have another kid. Repeated this daily to Hubs. Sorry, this baby factory has been permanently shut down. Out of order. I was too young. It was horribly traumatic and painful. And I stuck with that story for several years. Shannon was beautiful, smart, precocious. Pretty much a perfect kid.

Shannon, 8 months, 1971…

A few years later, just as suddenly every baby I came across was cute again. What was going on? The last month of my pregnancy, which lasted so much longer than a month was slowly forgotten. Ditto for the painful labor. I think God slowly makes you forget all the painful stuff involved with childbearing or none of us would ever have more than one kid. Seriously. One kid per woman. China would not ever have had to restrict family size if women all recalled our last month of pregnancy and giving birth.

Newborn Joshua in New Vienna, 1975…

I thought I might be ready to have another child. But how do you divide your love with this awesome little person who’s already been in your life for years? Would I be able to love another baby like I loved Shannon? Am I the only one who had these thoughts before my second pregnancy? Truth be told I was a little worried. I already loved Joshua, but would it turn out to be equally? Another thing God took care of without even asking. Much like the Grinch, my heart just expanded. There was more than enough love to go around. Oh-self-doubting-Duh-Neese. The same held true after another 4-1/2 years when Adam joined our merry band of misfits. My heart just grew another size.

Adam, Spencer Iowa, 1980…

Twenty years later Shannon became a mom. To the exquisite Ariana in 1991. When you think having a kid is extraordinary (and it is) try expressing your feelings for the first time you hold your kid’s kid. Breathtaking, fragile, miraculous and fulfilling don’t even come close. But there’s some different feelings too. When you’re a mom you worry about illness and accidents as your babies grow, but you don’t dwell constantly on those things. Another God thing, because you would be so consumed with scary scenarios you couldn’t function on a daily basis. I found myself worrying much more about Ari than I ever did about Shannon, Joshua or Adam. That’s grandma worry instead of mom worry. Danger Will Robinson danger, er I mean grandma.

Ariana, 9 months, 1991…

I see this at work too. Everyone I work with in the infant room is younger than me. Some decades, some pretty close to my age. I have the tendency to scamper, scoop up and move a baby to a safer spot much more than anyone else. Often after my day off, someone will say, you should have seen what Lily was trying to do yesterday. One of us mentioned, “Denise would be having a heart attack over that one!” Although I don’t really see myself as a worrisome person, my worry boundary level is much higher than everyone else’s. Keeps me on my toes for sure. The joys of Grandma-hood. I should rap that.

Landon 9 months, 2001…

Along the years, 3 more amazing grandchildren joined us. Landon, (Drew to the rest of the world) in 2000, Peyton in 2004 and Graham in 2009. Twenty five years have flown by since Ari, and that’s the only and best way to describe it. Flown past. You could slow that part down just a bit God. How the heck did Ari get to be 25? Remains a mystery. Ari and (her) Josh came over on a warm summer weekend last year to tell us they were expecting. Couple of breaths later I realize that would make my young-ish daughter Shannon a GRANDMA AND ME A GREAT-GRANDMA. Oh my stars. That seems too young for both of us. It was quite surreal for a few weeks.

Peyton 9 months, 2005…

Ari put this app on her phone. A backdrop where she’d stand sideways in front of a wall, smiling. A cute little saying next to her might announce, I’m 13 weeks and the baby is the size of a walnut. Later on, a lemon, grapefruit, cantaloupe, honeydew, summer squash. Finally a watermelon, which is exactly how she looked. Her face still thin, legs and arms too, but her belly absolutely looked like a watermelon was just languishing right there in her middle. She could no sit or sleep comfortably and hadn’t seen her cute feet in days.

Graham 9 months, 2010…

When Ari was born there were quite a few similarities to her having a baby this week. Her uncles Josh and Adam were 16 and 12 when she was born. Twenty-five years later, Ari’s sibs, Uncle Landon is 16 and Aunt Peyton is 12. My Mom had a girl first. Me too, so did Shannon. I knew right away that Ari was having a girl. I would have easily wagered a few bucks that her baby would also be born in the month of December, and on an even date. And she should have been. Due on January 3rd, you could easily understand baby girl’s dilemma. “No, sorry Mommy, I’m unable to proceed with the birthing process. I’m already too big and very comfy right here, so please just continue eating and I’ll be fine & dandy. You and daddy can meet me later. OK?” Ari probably should have had a C-section. Hindsight, good birth control for the future.

A fun weekly update showing the growing signs of Jovi, 2016..

After being induced a week after her due date, enduring a ‘quick’ 24 hours of miserable labor, baby girl made her whopping debut. In this corner, weighing in at 9 pounds, 1 ounce, the lovely yet formidable, Jovi Marie. Ari finally a new mommy, said, “thanks for not waiting any longer Jovi or gaining another ounce.”

A tuckered out Jovi right after being born, 1-11-16…

She wasn’t born on an even, low date of the month either. Jovi joins her daddy, aunts Peyton and Sarah with the uneven dates of 15, 7 and now two 11’s. Although we love them all, I’ll be working out equations until my head spins trying to make this work.

One happy family! Josh, Ari & Jovi Marie…

Great-grandpa and I were not at the hospital when Jovi was born. We thought about going after 16 hours of labor, but Ari was still stuck, dilated to only 4. Plus there were several more important people with her for support. So we waited, worrying and praying everything would be OK.

So much love and emotion. Jovi and Mommy, 1-11-17…

John and I first met Jovi when she’d been on earth for about 12 hours. So hard to put into words. If you can imagine the joy of holding your newborn, multiply several times. Here’s this tiny, exquisite person. Filling out a newborn sleeper perfectly. My kid’s, kid’s kid. As she squirmed, squeaked, frowned and slept contentedly, this is what ran through my head.

Jovi and her great-grandma-me! 1-12-17

Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace, of doubt in my mind.
I’m in love, I’m a believer
I couldn’t leave her if I tried.

Shannon Marie (Gi-gi) with Jovi Marie, 1-12-17…

The Monkees, 1966 (an awesome year BTW)

Jovi & great grandpa John cuddling, 1-12-17…

Welcome to our family, Jovi Marie. I hope you know how much you are loved and adored…

Jovi = perfection, thanks so much God…

There was a short time frame in my life when I thought I was invincible. I don’t mean those teenage years when you think nothing bad can ever happen. I knew better, having lost my only brother when he was 12. No, this short segment of time actually felt like 2 minutes, but it was more like 5 years. I’m here to tell you the sad tale about a gal who thought she had talent. Me.

No fireplace mantle. Bought a curtain rod and hung our stockings on the sliders…

My 5 year stint in infamy started around 1980. My wonderful sister-in-law Elly was more than handy, she was talented and crafty. And really, really into Christmas. Every December she painted her huge dining room window in a different religious Christmas setting. Hark the herald angels sing, the manger scene, Mary and Joseph with Jesus. You get the picture. Ha-ha-a pun. Wish I had one to show you. I think Elly painted the scene backwards so the window looked best to those walking or driving past her house. Amazing. People in Spencer looked forward to what she would paint every Advent. Elly had craft and talent oozing from her pores. My pores have always been clogged.

Elly set the bar unbelievably high. We lived in Spencer from 1977 until 1982, so I was aware of her gifts and my lack there of. She made me a bisque Nativity Set for Christmas in 1979 by hand. I might have given her a set of dish towels. Cringe. Part of it was she was crafty and enjoyed it. Part of it was she really thought a lot of our whole family. Since she’s 18 years older than her baby brother (my Hubs) we didn’t know her and Dewey very well when we got married. But that changed dramatically when we moved to the same town they lived in, Spencer. Their 4 kids were mostly grown, married and having babies of their own by then. Our warm relationship was part-friendship, part antique collectors and maybe a little-mother-son-daughter-thing. Our kids knew Elly and Dewey as aunt and uncle, but really considered them more like another set of grandparents. This closeness lasted long after we moved away.

The following year in 1980, Elly made me a Christmas tree skirt. Woman!! A kit she bought, cutting out different colored stamped felt pieces. Sewing them to the circle skirt. With sequins and pom poms. I was humbled by her talents and great gifts. I needed to up my game and do something awesome for her for a change. Except for those damn plugged pores which enveloped my whole body. I was hopeless. And clogged up.

Nevertheless, I bought a tree skirt kit right after Christmas that year. Probably because Sernett’s had them on clearance. I was determined to make Elly something handmade which conveyed how much she meant to me and prove it was possible to unclog my clumsy-no-talent-pores. The skirt took me the better (ha-who-am-I-trying-to-kid-MISERABLE) part of 1981 (that whole year still gives me the willies) but I got-r-done. And the skirt turned out quite nice. But something happened to me during the process. Even though it was torture, I actually thought I could do crafty projects. As if.

Another friend living in Spencer named Shari, was more artsy-fartsy than Elly. Maybe I ran around with them to keep myself humble. Now I was eating humble pie on a regular basis. Shari convinced me our Christmas tree needed more homemade ornaments. (Just kill me now). She brought over little patterns of semi-easy (but 10 on the difficulty scale for this putz). I bought pieces of felt, cutting out tiny shapes, glueing and sewing eyes, ears and mouths. I didn’t realize there were stores full of craft and sewing needs in the world. When the directions called for a bit of stuffing in the snowman or bear’s belly, I had no idea what to use. I finally ran to the dryer and pulled out the full lint trap. Ta-da, stuffing. It was at this time that I should have realized crafts and Neese had no business doing business together. But foolishly thought I had morphed into a crafty person. Indeed.

The snowman and teddy bear I struggled to make with dryer lint 1980..,

Sadly we moved from Spencer so my two encouraging mentors were no longer available for their uplifting chats. I was on my own in the craft world, which really ended being a form of Dante’s hell. I got the crazy notion our whole family needed handmade felt Christmas stockings. And we numbered 5. Might as well have been 19 & Counting Duggars (without all their weird shit). I bought 5 stocking kits at the end of the year clearance sale. Giving me plenty of time, about 8 weeks each to finish them before December 1st, the following year. Piece of cake. Not.

Each stocking was different. I started on the one I deemed the easiest. But it was also the biggest. Why hadn’t I looked on the package and noticed that one was gigantic? The other 4 were all the same size. Right away, Joshua claims the big one. He thinks more candy and toys will fit in it of course. Smart kid. He was about 9. The kit had all these minuscule parts you have to cut out. Little cheeks, eyeballs, and hands. The parts that didn’t have felt to cut out, you had to stitch in the blushing cheeks or little mouth. Nightmares are easily made of similar things. The pattern on Joshua’s stocking is a little boy and girl coming down the stairs with Santa and his bag of toys at the bottom. The actual stocking had a blue inked pattern where all these tiny parts needed to be sewn. They have to be stitched in exactly the right place or the blue marks show and it looks like ka-ka. Houston, we have ka-ka.

My stitches are big, uneven and blue ink marks are on the side of his face. Sigh…

Remember now, we’ve moved from Spencer to Davenport so I’m not only new in town, I’m alone and 350 miles away. Long distance phone calls are expensive and not to be wasted on silly craft projects when one is not crafty. I had already bravely walked into 30 Lanes and gotten on a bowling team and league. These gals would soon become some of my dearest friends (still) and wouldn’t ‘ya know, some of them had the craft gene. One perfectionist named Mary Lou (not to be confused with my bestie, Mary Ellen aka-Fred) noticed Joshua’s stocking, I had barely started on it, but definitely showing some blue ink where there shouldn’t be. She literally gasped and choked. Started clucking her tongue and shaking her head. Not pleased. This would not do. At all. Asked what in the world was I trying to accomplish? Gulping, I tried to explain. Stuck her hand up and out (no explanation can fix this Denise) grabbed all 5 kits as she left my house. (Thank you God).

Hubs and my stocking done professionally by Mary Lou, 1984…

Mary Lou might have finished them the following day by the end of business. Oh I jest, but they did not take her very long, maybe a month, tops. You did see ‘perfectionist’ by her name, right? I don’t remember what all I did for Mary Lou. Gave her some money and did some baking (take that Mary Lou, she didn’t really like cooking or baking, yay me) for the next few months. And my family had some exquisite Christmas stockings. I did manage to add each name on the tops of their own stocking, using leftover sequins. I think Shannon might have helped me with one or 2. And the small bubble burst and I realized no more crafts cause I just wasn’t capable. My little world was happy until there was no cute stocking for the very exquisite Ariana. My first grandchild. I had heart palpitations for 6 months after she was born, worrying about her lack of a Christmas stocking. While I hemmed and hawed on this new (wonderful) dilemma I got her a store bought stocking and hung my head in shame.

Lame store bought cheap stockings while I figured out who could make me more…

Another move and we’re in North Muskegon. I started working in the kitchen at McDonald’s. Great job, best boss. Ever. Not too long after I started, Mark the owner hired a gal my age named Carol. She had ‘crafty’ tattooed on her forehead, so spotting her was easy. Ari was now about 5 (yes, 5 years of shame for her lame stocking). I bought a cute stocking kit for her and Carol whipped up that puppy in nothing flat. Raggedy Ann and Andy, both with orange hair. Too stinking adorable. A couple years later, Shannon married Tracey, so Carol stitched one for him. Two years later, Landon (come on say it with me, “Drew to the rest of the world”) made his basketball appearance and Carol made a stocking for him. And yes, the name Landon will forever be on his stocking.

After a few years, I left McDonald’s and Carol moved. We would have a short respite until our little ballerina Peyton danced her way into my life. I was without a crafty person again. Dang it, how can it be so hard to keep these peeps in my ordinary life? At the time I was Parish Visitor and thought maybe one of my ‘gals’ could make a stocking. Now it’s been 20 years since I first bought felt stocking kits. The ones Carol made looked nothing like the ones from the mid-’80’s. Bling. They have sequins up the wa-zoo, and the patterns are so detailed. Not an inch on the stocking is without some decoration. Some of my little ladies could have done it a decade before but not anymore.

I had a part-time job cooking 2 nights a week at an assisted living facility. I use the term ‘cooking’ loosely but that’s a blog for another day. I asked around and a co-worker offered to make a stocking for 40 bucks with the promise it would be done by Christmas Eve. Oh boy. Why didn’t I ask for references? She stopped me in the hallway a couple days before Christmas. “I’m not going to be done with the stocking. It’s so hard. Everything takes too long. Sorry.”

My beautiful fairy ballerina, Peyton, 12, 2016…

About 6 weeks later, the gal at work handed me a bag. I gave her the money and eagerly reached for the stocking. There are not words to describe what was in front of me. I just stood there and cried. Out of frustration and anger. Let me show you a Christmas ornament that Ari made in Montessori preschool when she was 3. Yes, 3. The little beige doodle bug shows more talent than my ruined 15 dollar kit plus the money I just doled out. I honestly don’t know how anyone could hand that monstrosity to me. I would have lied and said my house burned down. Sorry I’m homeless. I threw it back in the bag and begged God that John would forget about the stocking and not ask to see it. Wrong. Sorry God, no more frivolous praying for dumb stuff. He (John not God, though God for sure was dumbstruck about the stocking too).

Top left center, beige doodle bug ornament made with more expertise by Ari, 3, 1994..;

Back to the drawing board. I had recently bought an old handmade quilt top. Why, I haven’t a clue. My friend had inherited it and didn’t want it. The quilt top was twin size, made of small squares of very loud 1940-ish cotton. I wanted to have it finished, but the right way. Of course I was having trouble finding the right person for this job. Everyone who looked at the quilt top wanted to do 2 things. Machine quilt it and fold all the darling zig-zag edge pieces down. Ugh. No, I waited because it would have been hand quilted had it been finished 60 years ago. And the most unique part of the quilt top was the edge. An amazing talented gal named Sue from my church came to my rescue. She belongs to at least one quilt club, maybe several. Her work is unbelievable. I literally drool when I see her quilts. Which ticks her off because of the dry cleaning bill. Sue finished my quilt perfectly, hand quilting it and leaving the cute edges.

Neat quilt that Sue completed. The bottom black edge is the cutest part, 2009…

Light bulb revelation. Maybe Sue was the crafty person missing in my life. She was!! I brought over a couple stocking kits and the pitifully sad sack stocking (so Sue would feel sorry for me). After her disbelief mumbling about the hack job, she squealed “Ohh, this looks like fun.” (Are you for real?) For the most part (except for the quilt and Christmas tree skirts later) Sue refused monetary payment. Lucky for this loser, she didn’t enjoy cooking and seemed to like mine. And loved my canned goods. Every time I made something special, I brought over a meal, a basket, or dessert to Sue’s and Bill’s house. Sue made Peyton’s, Graham’s, Sarah’s, and Erica’s stockings. Then she whipped up 4 Christmas tree skirts one year for Shannon, Joshua, Adam and Ari’s big gift.

To be on the safe side Sue stitched 2 spare Christmas stockings for our family, which continues to grow. Thanks God. Those two have been languishing in my antique blanket chest. I got them out hoping Ari might become a new mommy by Christmas. But our little baby girl was not quite ready to celebrate Christmas with us in 2016. Graham, grandpa and I got into a heated discussion about which stocking was perfect for her of the 2, so I invited Ari over to choose. (Ha-she chose the one I picked out. Maybe not as much ‘bling’ but it’s a little snow angel. Duh, easy choice) Then I tucked it back in the blanket chest and will stitch her little sequin name for 2017. I offered to stitch Josh’s name on the blingy one this Christmas. “Not yet gram. Wait until he proposes!” Smart girl. Gotcha….

For Josh if he ever proposes…