Dad passed away just over 10 years ago. Mom’s death was in 2004. Some days it feels like multiple decades have passed, other days it seems like yesterday and I can recall conversations with one or both of them in great detail. At times I swear I can hear the sound of their voices, and see some of Dad’s quirky mannerisms, or Mom’s occasional scrutinizing glance. 

The earliest picture I have of Mom & Dad together, early or mid-1940’s…

They were married 62 years. The sheer length is quite impressive, but if you truly knew my Mom and Dad, you’d be shaking your head in disbelief and wondering how 2 such different people could have possibly stayed together that long. Had to be grace of God. No, that might not be right either. By the time I hit my teens I thought these 2 people would be much happier-apart. Why didn’t they simply just split up? What held them together? 

Dad, tending the garden, late 1950’s…

I blogged about my own marriage awhile back. The many differences between the Hubs and I. Some are silly, like real butter-Diet Pepsi (me) vs. Olivio-Diet Coke (John), some not so funny. I was more lenient with the kids, but maybe to be a halfway successful duo in a  2 parent household, you need one who is more strict than the other.  In most instances though, when really important issues come up, we were on the same page. On many counts, we are quite compatible.

Just the cutest! Mom sunbathing around 1950…

Mom and Dad didn’t share much common ground-down to the foods they preferred. Dad liked his meal separated or compartmentalized. I think this might have to do with their different upbringings. Dad’s family had more mouths to feed and spuds were a great way to stretch a meal, like noodles. My Mom, on the other hand lived with her maternal grandparents after her mom passed soon after she and her twin brother were born. The Wanningen grands were not wealthy but comfortable I think. Not sure if every meal at my Dad’s boyhood home included meat but pretty sure potatoes were a staple. I can remember eating crispy fried potatoes at Grandma Gerritson’s house when Dad and I were visiting a long, long time ago.

Sioux Center Iowa, about 1930. Wanningen grands, Mom and twin brother Floyd…

Anyway, Dad’s preferred meal always included a meat: beef roast, meatloaf, ring bologna, or pork chops. Mashed, baked, fried or boiled potatoes, gravy and a vegetable. He would have been happy every day with a divided plate holding one of these meals. Mom, not so much. I think she could have easily been a vegetarian. And she wasn’t that keen on divided dry little compartment meals. She much preferred casseroles and soups. Tasty broth to compliment soups or a thicker, creamy base holding the meat/potato/veggies together. She, like me had to have something cold to compliment our meal. Usually cranberry sauce, apple sauce, pickled beets, or fresh tomatoes during the summer. Yup, their differences could be summed up between a 3 course dinner plate for Dad, or a casserole/soup for Mom’s supper. Mom certainly cooked both kinds of meals but leaned more to Dad’s choices on meals even though she might have chosen something different. 

Mom in a teaching moment-cleaning light fixture w/Shannon, 1971…

I smile when I think of some of Mom’s soups and casseroles. I still make most of her soups. Chicken (though I’ve been using pearl barley more than rice the last few years) Vegetable Beef, Pea (whole, not split-ever) Bean soups. But Mom had this one hot dish. Her favorite ‘go to’ casserole. Dad and I could smell it as we walked in the house. We didn’t say anything because 90% of the time she catered to what we had requested for supper. But with the regularity of a well oiled clock we could count on this casserole making it to the supper table almost every month. 

Mom, Mona, Ed & Dad, September 1960…

It was called Tater Tot Casserole. Sigh. It’s been blocked from my memory bank for awhile, the same way we tend to delete the negative. Something like this. Ground beef, browned with onion, drained and maybe mixed with Cream of Celery soup. Mom did not like or use Cream of Mushroom, but she might have used Cream of Chicken. This was placed in the bottom of a glass baking dish. A can of drained green beans plopped on top of the ground beef mixture. Then came those rascally tater tots. Each about the size of a walnut in the shell. Frozen, pale, kinda of funny looking. The entire top of the beef/green beans layers was covered with white-frozen-ping-pong-ball-sized-tater-tots. Sigh. In her defense, Mom did make it halfway appealing. Our gas stove temperature had to be set pretty high because when she plucked it from the oven and placed it on her trivet potholder, (thus sparing the table), the-little-stuck-together-rice-size-fake-potato-tidbits were nicely browned. Really, about the only meal Mom made that I didn’t care for. Mom wasn’t a fancy cook but everything she fixed was tasty. But where tater tots (much like McDonald’s frozen hash browns-yuk) were concerned, there’s only so much you can do with that shit. 

Mom & Dad with first grandson, Brian in 1962…

Dad expected supper on the table every night, except Saturday by 5 pm. (We had our big meal at noon on Sunday, so Sabbath suppers were more sandwich type, though none of the Gerritson’s exhibited even the slightest basic knowledge on how to make a good sandwich). Even Dad’s daily lunch pail had only buttered Hillbilly Bread, with one slice of American cheese. Topped with another slice of buttered bread. Never had to worry that Dad would come home with mayo or mustard stains all over his bib overalls. Ha-ha. But supper was to be shared. We prayed, ate, read scripture, prayed again together. 

Mom & Dad visiting us in Jackson about 1990…

After Larry died, Dad became obsessed with helping others/church committees/visiting the sick/preaching the gospel/spreading the word of God. He had places to go every night so an early supper was mandatory. He needed to wash up, eat, change clothes and get out of the house to save some souls. Mom had supper to fix, laundry, ironing, windows to wash, lunches to make, sweaters to knit. And nothing excited her less than going out after she got home from a hard day at work. 

Happier times, a year before we lost Larry, 1957…

I have a difficult time coming up with any compatibility where my folks are concerned. Dad was very social, Mom was an introvert. They weren’t even reading the same book where discipline was concerned when raising us kids. I don’t think Dad was even consulted most of the time. Yet they remained together. I’m sure a big part was the stigma of divorce. Not a popular choice in a rural small Iowa town. Which was predominantly Dutch, a half century ago. Since I was only 7 when we lost my brother Larry, maybe I’m just not aware of how happy Mom and Dad were before his death. I don’t remember them fighting or angry voices very often. Larry’s death took an unbelievable toll on all of us. Perhaps they just accepted and made the necessary adjustments for the enormous fissure that opened between them after he died. Mom and Dad. Different as night and day. From personalities to food preferences. Together, for better or worse 62 years, plus one month-exactly…

A later church photo, maybe early 90’s. Classic Mom and Dad…

Hubs is not a shopper, never has been. Hates it actually. Prit-near torture if he has to go to a mall. It’s gotten worse as he’s aged. Even 20 years ago he could putter around Meijer for a half hour in the sporting goods, hardware or automotive department. Now he complains that Meijer only has groceries and clothes, which is probably pretty close to the truth.

Meijer produce department. They’ve eliminated most departments besides food and clothes…

So when he says, “do you need anything from the store,” he’s not actually offering to zip 3 miles down the road to Meijer for 20 bucks worth of groceries cause I’m too tired. Oh no, he simply means from my expanded kitchen/larder/bunker/ which is open 24-7 for our convenience. (This is located in my laundry room). Don’t go thinking this dude needs a cape. He would never willingly go to a ‘real’ store for me unless there was a dire emergency. In his defense however, Hubs has always realized his crazy ass wife loves to grocery shop. That can’t be normal. But it’s the way I am.

My kitchen is small. Not able to store much more than the absolute necessities. But my large laundry room downstairs has these built in cupboards which make a perfect ‘larder.’ Two huge cupboards, floor to ceiling, deep sections, 3 shelves each. One cupboard holds all of my home canned goods. The second one holds everything my kitchen doesn’t. Ever since I had more than 2 bucks in my purse to spend on groceries I’ve been a quantities shopper. (And quality). My second pet peeve (number 1 remains the jerk who refuses to get out of the passing lane-then continues to drive way too slow) is running out of something when I need it. Whether it’s toilet paper, eggs, baking powder or L’Oréal hair color, there’d better be a replacement on the shelf somewhere in this house. If I have to go to the store because I’ve literally run out, rest assured I will be buying 10 of whatever I’m lacking at the moment. Just the way I roll.

My home canned goods for 2018-so far. Still have to do apple sauce…

Hubs enjoys novels similar to The Walking Dead series on TV. Some weird strain of biological war/zombies/ has wiped out 90% of the population. The few humans remaining have to trek to North Dakota or some such place and the odds are never in their favor. So when John asks if I need something, he’s actually only offering to walk downstairs to ‘the other store.’ Yeah, he thinks it’s funny. Every time he reads another book he says, “when the real apocalypse hits, we’ll be able to live here and eat for at least a year, maybe 2. If we die, let’s hope the good guys come through our house and find your store downstairs. Since coffee is at a premium in every single apocalypse book, they’ll be in heaven when they spot your half dozen cans of coffee.”

Don’t judge. I keep a lot of canned goods on hand because would if I get hungry for Tres Leches Cake? Cannot be made without a can of Cream of Coconut. Note: that’s not Coconut milk which is common and cheap, but Cream of Coconut which is hard to find and expensive. To prove I’m not a hoarder I will tell you I only have one can of Cream of Coconut in the house. See? I can be normal. But the day I use that can, its replacement will appear on my next (constant) grocery list. Count on it.

Yup, only one of these on my shelves…

I need a lot of stuff in the house because I still cook and bake a lot. And we eat good. The older we get, the less we go out. We don’t enjoy eating out as much as we used to. Portions and prices are two big reasons why plus I can usually make it better. And I’m not that great of a cook. Normally I stick to a plan. I’ll march downstairs on the weekend. Head to the freezer, pluck out a package of boneless, skinless chicken breasts (tasteless according to Hubs. He thinks everything should be made with dark meat) a beef roast, package of ground round and a nice ham bone. The decision’s been made, the next 4 nights suppers (Crockpot Chicken and Dumplings, Hot Beef Sandwiches, Taverns and Ham & Bean Soup) are now on the menu. When my life is in sync, this is normal behavior. Well, as normal as I get. Then again, sometimes I open the freezer and stare into space. Geez, what can I make that’s different or we haven’t had in a while? Or I’ll ask John, who might say, “I’m hungry for salmon patties, fried potatoes and cream peas, or meatloaf or beef stroganoff.” We both have our favorites. I try to be fair. Or we’d have spaghetti once a week along with turkey and all the fixins. Every week. At least once.

I often make soup twice a week. Hubs likes soup, but nearly as much as I do. I’m more than ok with a big bowl of homemade soup everyday. Right now I’ve got a hankering for Chicken Corn Chowder and Red Skin Potato with Bacon soup. Soup is one of my favorites as far as leftovers go. Which is the real the reason I cook. So I can bring good food to work. I get up at 4 and get my break at 10:30, Lord willing. I’m starving by 10:30. Walk to the lunch room, toss my entree in the microwave. Nibble one of my fingers down to the first knuckle during these excruciating 3 minutes. Today was the last of my goulash, (John’s request) a slice of bread, fresh blackberries and Diet Pepsi.

Honestly, it’s not as-overwhelming as it looks…

John has suffered from a chronic affliction since the day we got married. He is helpless, unable and incapable of finding a gallon of milk in an otherwise empty fridge. Place my hand on the Bible, it’s the gospel truth. The man can wire a garage, put in a gas line where there was only 220 electric for a dryer. Replace an engine in a car. Has the vision to ‘see’ how a multi million dollar factory machine line is gonna run and make the parts he needs. However, if his life depended on it, he could not spot that damn gallon of milk. In an empty fridge. Sad. But true. My cross to bear.

My ‘larder’ is important. And I’m anal about FIFO. Hey, I worked at McDonald’s for years. One of the first things they teach you. First in, first out. When new stock comes in, the older stuff gets put in front so it will be used first. Always. Usually the maintenance man’s job but every crew worker at one time or another has had to help put away stock if the maintenance guy was busy doing something else. I’m constantly moving stuff around downstairs, checking expiration dates. I mean geez, it’s not not like I have 20 cans or jars of something. OK so maybe a dozen to 15 cans of tuna but really, who’s counting? When I say we eat good, I’m serious. Thus my tuna casserole uses 4 cans of tuna. Yes, 4.

This odd store really isn’t anything new with me. It’s just never been in one handy location before because I always had much larger kitchens. So all my grocery stash was in several different cupboards as opposed to one gigantic place now. When the kids were grown up, on their own but still single, anytime they were visiting meant they would do much of their grocery shopping right out of my cupboards. For free. Win-win for everyone. I was adament they tell me when they took the last of something because you know, it had to replaced immediately. Stat. There are still rules when shopping at mom’s house.

Shannon moved about 6 months ago. Her house is very, very nice. And big. Italian marble, mosaic floors, fancy ceilings 20 feet high. Her kitchen has 3 ovens. 3. Her ‘pantry’ is right off the kitchen. Even the pantry is cute, and the approximate size of my whole kitchen. She was trying to get her pantry organized and utilize that nice space, so she ordered some shelving racks. The kind you see in stores where you take a can of soup out and another rolls in its spot. Gonna take care of all her canned goods. Except they didn’t fit on her pantry shelves. Bummer. She dropped them off at our house to see if I could use them since she didn’t feel like sending them back. Well there’s more than enough room in my larder for those racks. Wish she’d ordered a half dozen. Dang. I hemmed and hawed about which cans should go on these racks. So many cans, so few places for such a great display. Well as long as I was finding the right spot for the racks I might as well rearrange the whole cupboard and check the dates on everything….

Not a week goes by where I don’t see a couple of posts on Facebook about clothing. A genuine concern from a complaining mom. Her unhappiness with the manufacturers of children’s clothing. Usually girls clothing. Upset mom’s been shopping but has come home empty handed. And angry. Why? Because some little girls clothing offered has become too grownup, too suggestive, and mom doesn’t want her kid wearing that crap. I notice this ‘kids growing up’ way too fast in a lot of areas. Yet when you talk about it to parents most say it’s gotta stop. Let little kids be kids for awhile.

Jovi Marie, 18 months. Wearing totally appropriate clothing and wearing it well…

We have a staff meeting 2 hours a month, always at night, right after the last child leaves and we’re closed. Classes on various subjects dealing with children. Everything from being an advocate for all children, CPR, discipline, to community outreach for kids. We’ve been working on a long series right now on conscious discipline. The speaker has a great sense of humor and I’ve enjoyed her take on young children. A large clip of her last class was encouraging teachers to let our small children play. Yup, it’s that simple. Our kids are spending too much time with the iPad, in front of the tv, in organized sports and activities at a very young age, but not spending enough time playing in the rain. It seems as though mud, rain, sand, playing in the grass is actually good for kids. Period. Who knew? And we don’t let, or actively make the time to encourage them to simply play outside together enough, using their imagination and some old fashioned playground equipment.

Our room continues to evolve. For 3 years it’s simply been the infant room. Up to the time babies are between 12-14 months, they’re ours to care for and help mold. Then, because they’re toddlers, they would be eased into the next room with The Wonderful Ones. Sounds logical, has worked well. Until it was decided to let the babies remain in the infant room longer. Ease the enormous stress for them of having to move from our room. Don’t get me started. Already expressed my strong feelings what a bunch of hooey I think this is.

Now I’m fretting from a couple of those changes, not particularly the change itself, but the timing. This goes back to the manufacturer’s inappropriate clothing for kids. In a world where we constantly say, let them be little kids, it seems we’re doing exactly the opposite. I was a stay at home mom raising our 3 children. My kids slept in their cribs until they were dry through the night. Which happened about the age of 2-1/2. Then they got a big bed because they were big kids.

Where breakfast and lunch is served, but not for very long. Gotta go, gotta go…

Our babies each have their own crib to nap in. State law requires babies under 1 must have their own crib each day. Every child over 1 but under 3 must have a crib or cot. When the babies get fussy, we rock them to sleep. Maybe takes 5-10 minutes and they’re out like a light. Lay them down in their assigned crib, note the time and move on. Recently 4 cots have been added to our room. The cots sit about 3 inches off the floor. We throw on a crib sheet, move the immobile babies out of their designated area during nap time so the big kids can sleep there. Two or 3 people sit between the cots and lay down toddlers approximately 40 times, patting their backs until they fall asleep. Why? I don’t understand or see the advantage.

The other change is worse. Now the one year olds are supposed to sit on small chairs at a table which is about 15 inches high. For 2-1/2 years I’ve been able to feed 4 kids at one time. A couple usually are already eating finger foods while 2 might have cereal, jars or pouches of baby food. I sit on a bench, facing them. Each high chair tray holds a bowl or plate with food if they can feed themselves. I use masking tape with their names for the ones with baby food. We play pat-a-cake or I’ll sing songs or old commercial jingles while they eat. Pick up their sippy cups (also with their name on it) 20 times because it’s still fun to throw them even though they’re mere inches off the floor.

Imagine, if you will the game of whack-a-mole. A table with holes every few inches. Your goal is to see how fast you can ‘bop’ the little mole who sticks his head through one of the holes. But as soon as you make him disappear, another appears in a different hole. It happens very fast and constantly. Well that’s what a table of 4, 13-18 months old looks like. Just without the mallet. Now matter how hungry they are, they cannot remain seated. It’s like their little butt has a minute timer and they have to stand up, push away from the table and walk away. As soon as you set one down, show him his plate, drink, fork or spoon, another one is leaving. Then another, and another. Constant battle to get them sit for 10 minutes. They’re definitely eating less. Too many distractions. Other’s plates and silverware are now within easy reach. Why do we insist they eat at a big table when they’re not big? We just can’t let them be little when they’re still little. Why is that? What’s the advantage with cots and tables as opposed to cribs and high chairs? I don’t understand the reasoning, and find this very frustrating.

One morning this week I walked in our room, and noticed a new table and 2 chairs in the play area. The chairs resemble Adirondacks, and the table solid maple or birch, round and quite large, maybe 40 inches. Sitting about 15 or 18 inches off the ground, my first though was, is that not the cutest thing ever? Followed by, wonder which one of the boys will be standing on top of the table within the first 2 minutes of spotting it. As God is my witness it did not take 2 minutes. Let’s hope the novelty wears off quickly for the table and chairs.

How cute is this? They would rather climb on than sit so far…

One of our oldest kids wasn’t feeling the need for a nap. Major meltdown and this cutie has a set of pipes. Worthy of window shattering. Since she was disrupting the entire room, her immediate need for sleep was abandoned for the moment. I was rocking a baby to sleep close to her loud complaints. I growled and said, “woman” and tickled her arm. Tears forgotten, she squealed with delight and backed just out of my reach. Only to inch closer and closer with a huge grin on her face. Then I growl “woman” and repeat the tickle. Which made her giggle, back up and start all over again. She’d throw her head black, laugh maniacally (she really was tired). It was then I noticed her wide open mouth. “Hey, when the kids have more teeth than me, do they finally get to move?”…

Hot town, summer in the city, back of my neck getting dirty and gritty.
Been down, isn’t it a pity, doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city.
All around, people looking half dead,
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head.

Is this hell? No, just the temperature in Las Vegas the whole time we were there…

Holy cow, that’s one appropriate oldie. I don’t know if this has been a fluke or Las Vegas summers are really this stinking hot. If it’s not a fluke, how can anyone live there year round? And survive? And why in heaven’s name would you? I grew up in Iowa. Without air conditioning. I know hot and humid. But Las Vegas in late July was almost unbearable. From Thursday evening through Monday morning, the temperature never dipped below 90. Ever. And that trend didn’t start when we arrived or stop when we left. Hoo-eee.

They lie. Temperatures were hotter than this every stinking day…

These impromptu adventures (for me) always start the same way. Shannon texted me a few weeks ago, “Mom, Tracey’s not able to go to Landon’s last tournament in Las Vegas. I already booked a fabulous room at The Venetian for 4 nights. All it’s gonna cost you is your flight and tickets to his games.” Man oh man, I knew immediately I wanted to go. Only thing causing me pause was not getting the days off work. I pretty much take off what and when I want but my boss strongly encourages everyone to give at least a 2 week notice when asking for time off. This would be a couple days shy of that. But one of those requested days is my normal day off, so I was only stretching it by 2 days. After a bit of maneuvering and moving around some workers, my request was granted. Maybe a tad grudgingly. But it’s rare for me to request time off without oodles of notice, or not zipping into work if they’re short of help or staying later. This works both ways, which is probably why I didn’t get the stink eye when pleading my case.

Can’t say he’s really famous, but I did recognize him. Guy from the aquarium show called Tanked. Wade and his lovely wife…

Last time Hubs and I were in Vegas was February of 2017. Twice. Neither stop was really for the whole Vegas experience. Saw no shows and didn’t gamble. We flew there with the sole purpose of driving to Yuma (we might not have fully realized exactly how far away Yuma was from Sin City) and made plans to see our niece Wendy and her family before we flew back to Detroit. The weather had been cool, cloudy with rain. Almost uncomfortably cool for what we had expected. And the clothes we had.

View from our room on the 23rd floor at The Venetian…

This recent trip was with mixed emotions where basketball was concerned. I think Landon (Drew to the rest of the world) has played AAU ball every spring and summer since 7th grade. But seniors can not compete in this league. And in less than one short month Landon will start his senior year. How is that even possible? Seems like he was just playing a game of H O R S E with me and won easily. Might add he was 3 at the time. And yes, it was a regulation basketball hoop.

Landon, # 23. Went back to short hair. He’s so stinking cute…

Before his regular basketball season this winter this will be the last time he’ll be playing in a tourney. Where have those years gone? And how come they seem to be going faster than ever lately? The tourney is called the Las Vegas Fab 48, meaning how many teams were invited. Landon was playing with a bunch of his buddies for this tournament. Guys who are Ann Arbor Pioneer rivals during basketball season, but they’re all good friends and this team needed a point guard for a couple weeks so duh, who ‘ya gonna call? One of Michigan’s 2019 best point guards in the state.

Bringing it down court, setting up the play…

Landon’s team flew to Las Vegas on Wednesday and was already knee deep in pool play (kind of seeding to get a good mixture of teams and talent in every bracket playing through to the finals. Like play offs, maybe. This is all kind of Greek to me, ask Tracey for details if you must). You can lose games in pool play, your team is then just seeded lower. But with all Landon’s years of summer league playing, once the tourney actually starts, (usually on a Saturday morning), you lose once and you’re done.

Landon in Las Vegas, July, 2018…

Shannon and I were landed on Thursday evening, so we missed a couple of their early pool play wins. His only game on Friday and our first to watch them play and they lost. That sucked. Thus, instead of being seeded first in their bracket and playing around noon, One Nation’s game would start at 8 a.m. And the high school was about half hour away. Just can’t get away from that crack of dawn wake up time. Appropriate for the city that never sleeps.

Terrible shot, but every road leading to Las Vegas has these iron cutout animals. I love them…

With 3 full days ahead of us in Vegas, and not a lot of time gobbled up with basketball, Shannon and I were trying to make tentative plans to fill the hours. We had hoped to see my niece (Shannon’s first cousin) and her family. But Wendy and Tom have lived in Nevada long enough to know spending much of their summer in Las Vegas is not conducive to their well being or all around good health. Hot damn! Exactly. It was just too hot to be outdoors. The extremes felt when exiting a casino, airport, gymnasium, car or restaurant sapped you immediately. It was impossible to catch your breath as the air you were sucking in was hotter than McDonald’s coffee. Take a few steps and your sandals melted right off. Along with your feet. And I’ve learned from experience, every single casino is way too cool. They certainly don’t want you getting drowsy and heading up to your room. Heck no, they don’t make and take your hard earned money that way. Keep it delightfully cool (I saw my breath a few times) and the folks will stay on the casino floor and keep giving up their money.

One of the entrances to The Venetian, looks like Italy…

So forget about enjoying the Strip for a few blocks. How about a show? One of the billboards were advertising the Donny and Marie Osmond Show. I thought Shannon would be thrilled. She grew up loving the duo and their variety show in the mid to late 70’s. (Cute little story about my brilliant pre-schooler back in the day). Shannon had the flu, diarrhea and was quite sick so I was taking her to our beloved pediatrician in Sioux City. As Dr. Stauch walked in, he said, “I hear you’re not feeling well Shannon. What’s wrong?” Precocious little twerp came right back with, “I have the donny-marie-a.” Doc laughed for 5 minutes, then had to apologize to Shannon because she wasn’t trying to be funny.

Shannon, no jokes allowed when she’s suffering from ‘donny-marie-a,’ 1973…

Nope, Shannon was no longer feeling the love for the Osmonds. She and Peyton had zip lined through downtown Las Vegas a couple of years ago, had a blast and she thought I might enjoy being literally scared to death. Let’s see, what exactly would that look like? Floating lazily through the air with temperatures hovering around 120. Trying to capture the city buzz while my face melts off. We decided it was just too hot to do anything outdoors.

The ceiling at The Venetian, Las Vegas, 2018…

Except for the Grand Canyon. It’s not that we didn’t believe in One Nation’s talent and ability. But with 48 teams, some who probably played together for several summers, we thought a game or 2 in on Saturday and we’d be knocked out. What better way to utilize the rental car than drive for 5 hours, spend a couple hours on the petrifying Skywalk and head back to Vegas?

Bright and early Saturday morning, One Nation’s squeaked out their first tournament victory against a Detroit team with a 2 point win. Landon played most of the game and had 11 points. Second game, late afternoon was easier and we won by 9. Landon scored 10. Too late now for a one way 5 hour trip, so the only way we could still visit the Grand Canyon was if One Nation lost early on Sunday. But we didn’t want them to lose. They were playing well as a team and looked as though they’d been playing together for a long time too. As with all his tournaments, you just get caught up and want them to do well. Pretty much let go of the notion that we’d be going any further out of Las Vegas than the next high school gym where One Nation was playing. Looks like we’re playing on Sunday!

All the gyms are air conditioned. Duh, it’s 120 outdoors…

Never crazy when Landon has to play at 8 am. High school boys in hotels results in little or no sleep. They look like hell in the morning. Haven’t eaten, or just had junk food, plus haven’t slept. But 8 am in Vegas is 11 am in Michigan, and they didn’t look too bad. Besides they’re very aware there’s only 8 teams left, and they’re one of them. They came out with golden arms. Won by 10, and our favorite hoopster had 24, including six layups and three, 3 pointers. A four hour break, another high school, another win in the semifinals.

The oddest thing occurred during this game. The gym wasn’t packed but there were probably 3 or 4 hundred watching, including some west coast coaches. All of a sudden at least 200 cell phones go off at the same time. With the same chirp. I immediately thought it had to be an Amber alert. Not so fast. It was a flash flood warning. No, I’m not kidding. Guess the 3 times a year they get rain, they don’t have anywhere to put it. And don’t know how to drive in it. Seems it doesn’t easily soak into the desert. By this time we were staying at this big Catholic high school because One Nation was headed for the finals in an hour. So we watched the wind whip the palm trees around, angry raindrops splat on the ground for 15 minutes and that was it. Major letdown from a midwestern gal, but they do things different in Vegas.

My wrist bands from Landon’s tournament called Fab 48…

Championship game was a good one. Lead changes several times. Landon was high scorer with 17, but we lost by 3 at the buzzer. So glad I went, so glad they kept winning. Whole weekend was really great, except for that relentless heat. I highly recommend staying at The Venetian. Reminded us both of Italy. Lots of marble, statues, even an outdoor gondola. Which was in danger of sinking since the water temperature was near boiling.

Team pic after winning semis. Actually happier than after they lost the championship, Landon # 23…

Restaurants were very good and we had lots of choices without leaving our mammoth structure. Very fancy shops, but we opted for a couple of high end outlet malls instead. Had a great time, good views of mountains from our room in the distance. Monday morning found us checking out, heading for the airport when we realized 2 things. We hadn’t gone to any shows and neither of us had dropped even a mere quarter in the slot machines. Like mother, like daughter…

I tend to view different ideas, changes of any kind, even introductions to new foods with some reluctance. Who am I trying to kid? I wrote a story not long ago about the first time Hubs took me to a Chinese restaurant. Had to be 35 years ago when we lived in Davenport. As he forcibly moved my feet towards the fancy entrance, I started to cry. Honest. Such a wuss. All because I didn’t want to experience a new food. Maybe reluctance is not quite the right word. Let’s go with-unwilling, hesitant, opposed, unenthusiastic, reserved or disinclined.

This whole fiasco is my sister-in-law’s fault. Oh, I’m gonna call her out on it too. Right here in bold type. (Sorry, I don’t know how to type bold). Rest assured, I’m pounding the keys much harder than necessary. MARY JANE VAN BERKUM. I do however, know how to ‘capitalize’ in a situation. Ha!

It was mid-February, 2017, our first trip to Yuma. Hubs and I were unwittingly mere pawns in her scheme of things. We were trying to accomplish 2 objectives in one big swoop. Get away for a short respite during Michigan’s worst weather during our 8 month season called winter. But not stay away too long so I wouldn’t miss very many basketball games of Landon’s (Drew to the rest of the world) sophomore season. Part of her mission was to see we were kept occupied with sight seeing, eating out, and learning about an area we knew absolutely nothing about. The desert. Our other objective was a health issue. I had a tooth that needed major repair, plus the rest of my mouth was in need of remodeling. It was ok. Mary Jane knew a guy.

It was her job to cram as many new things into our boring existence. And do this in about 2 weeks. So besides working around some dental appointments in Los Algodones, Mexico, Mary Jane was unfettered in her planning. We were just along for the ride.

One of the places we toured that I haven’t mentioned in my 3 blogs about Yuma, (“The 3:10 to Yuma”, “To Kofa with Les”, and “It’s all about the Name”) was actually near Winterhaven, California. (Hard to find, hard to get there and so bumpy I was fearful of knocking out the new hardware in my mouth). But fascinating. Established when World War ll army guys were training in the desert. They started writing their names, made out of small rocks against the white sands of the desert. They called it, Graffiti Mesa, and the tradition has continued. And grown. This rather odd attraction now covers 1,200 acres. And the rocks have to be hauled in to boot.

Not to be sidetracked and get all warm and fuzzy about our dedicated tour guides, so back to Mary Jane. Part of each day usually included setting for a spell at their winter-haven-home-away-from-home. A glass of wine, or her expertly concocted margaritas, a little down time to reconnect and just shoot the shit for a spell. And she added a bit of stealthy maneuvering before we went out to eat somewhere. New eats. Neese-don’t-do-new-eats. First let me be clear.

1. I’ve never really been a “cracker” girl. Hubs can eat crackers with different sliced cheeses and a hard as a brick salami he sends for via internet, every few days. He’ll make a good sized attractive plate with sliced chunk cheeses, a row of salami slices and oodles of crackers arranged neatly. Walk up to me like an offering plate, and I’ll politely take one or 2 crackers, one slice of cheese and one slice of meat. Done.

2. If offered a dessert tray with a dozen choices, anything with cream cheese-will be my last choice. I just prefer a slice of fruit or cream pie, cake, brownie, or torte to a piece of cheesecake.

3. I’m not into spicy foods. Don’t like ‘hot stuff’ though I like my food very hot. I know I’m odd. Doritos are about as spicy hot as I like to go.

Imagine my dismay when Mary Jane hauls out a gorgeous small platter consisting of an entire brick of cream cheese. Looking rather smushed, sadly resembling Iowa snow drifts during a blizzard. But wait! It gets worse. (Sorry Jane) On top of this white mountain is a startling sight. Bright green globs (I must say though, it did have great eye appeal). What, pray tell might this be? Jalapeño Jelly. You’ve got to be kidding me. Oh for cripes sake, just kill me now.

Now go back to the end of my first paragraph. There I was, reluctant, unwilling, hesitant, opposed, unenthusiastic, reserved and disinclined to even try it. Who in the world would eat Jalapeño Jelly? Valiantly trying not to be rude, I picked up my knife and a club cracker and wheedled a speck of cream cheese the size of celery seed and generously smeared it all over the cracker. Taking a deep breath, my knife shakily returns to the massive glob of greenery. I can do this. I am woman. Hear me roar. Or whimper. A tear or 2 might have fallen from my face which was now frozen in a grimace/smile (imagine Jack Nicholson’s face in the Shining or Heath Ledger as the Joker in The Dark Knight). I sniff, trying to stop my nose from running. Oddly, the odor smells remarkably tasty. WTH. Not so easily fooled, I manage to snag an iota of jalapeño jelly and forcibly will my hand to try and smother the cream cheese. Now I’m not really sure I can go through with this. Meanwhile, Mary Jane is clicking off a dozen sight seeing adventures that have been added to tomorrow’s agenda and seems not to notice my rendition of, I’m really, truly suffering here at the wailing wall.

Biting off a minutely small crumb, my mouth explodes with tingly sweet spicy-ness. While the Jalapeño jelly is quite sweet, the cream cheese off centers it from tasting too sweet. The cracker part adds a bit of salty crunch. Goodness, I’ve discovered God’s favorite appetizers now served in heaven. Greedily, I glop on a silver dollar size of cream cheese which is now dwarfed by the Oreo Double Stuff sized placing of jalapeño jelly. No one seems to take notice that half of the platter is now missing, they’re busy deciding what time we need to meet up in the morning. I will not be among the tourists however. I am not leaving this table until there is not another smidge of jalapeño jelly left in this house.

And just that quick.

I. Am. Addicted.

It’s all Mary Jane’s fault.

After we return to Michigan and the reality of work and winter, my nights are filled with dreams of Jalapeño Jelly. I searched every grocery store, even bought a jar I spotted, but it didn’t taste the same at all. I have to go back to Yuma for some green stuff. Right now. Heck with my teeth, warm weather and relatives. Mary Jane buys it from a gal when she goes to a flea market in Yuma every winter. How can I afford a ton, plus shipping it to my house? Hubs calmly gives my shoulders a little shake. “Get a grip. Look up the freaking recipe and learn how to can it yourself. Duh. It’s what you do with everything else. You’ve got to get out from under this jelly’s spell. You cannot pine for an entire year about jelly.” Reality returned.

The recipe was foreboding. You have to use a food processor (I don’t own one) and as far as jellies and jams go, it’s made completely the opposite of any jelly I’ve ever made. I borrowed Shannon’s food processor, bought 2 dozen jalapeños, cider vinegar, liquid pectin (I prefer powdered, but this crazy recipe was adamant) sugar and green food coloring. That’s it.

The nightmares have stopped. Had the Hubs buy a small locking safe, hidden somewhere safe and secure. My 2 dozen jar stash have calmed my fears and I’ve returned to my former somewhat normal existence. For now. God help me if I can’t one day find that little basket of fresh jalapeños in Meijer produce department. All bets are off…