I’m on the cusp. Teetering on the brink. Trying to remain objective with something I have very little control over. I find it increasingly difficult, though worth the effort. Still. Why does it bother me? How can I steer clear of the bombardment of negative Nellie’s? Facebook has changed my life-plain and simple. For this profoundly deaf loner, Facebook has opened up a world I would have never known. I embraced it hook, line and sinker. Or should I say stinker? 

I started writing this in late December. (I’ve been procrastinating to post it because it’s uncomfortable & controversial-2 feelings I detest and avoid at all costs). I was simply contemplating a New Year’s resolution. I’m not too keen on resolutions, so I rarely make them because keeping them is impossible. While I was writing I wondered how long I’ve been on Facebook? Just as I was checking my exciting, informative newsfeed, Facebook sends me “Congratulations on 6 years” being part of Facebook. So this life changer occurred in 2013.

It’s not always easy bringing Neese into the scary world of new technology. Several years before 2013, Joshua and Ariana mentioned how much they thought I’d enjoy Facebook. They’d look at each other and say, “someone needs to start Mom/gram with a Facebook account.” But deep down both knew exactly how much work this would entail for the start up person. I’m high maintenance on anything techie. Just ask Josh. I still pelt him regularly with:  

1. I don’t know how to do this.  

2. What does this mean?    

3. Where did that go?   

4. I’m having issues with my blog. Now I can’t add pictures to my stories. Can you come over for a day to help figure this out? I’ll cook. Yeah, I’m still not above using bribery on my kids. (And no, I got no pride).

Fact of the matter, I’m kind of struggling with Facebook lately. I’m enormously grateful how it connects people. Namely connects them to me. There’s no way I’d be in contact with most of my friends without Facebook. Over half my friend’s list actually. That’s amazing. (Thanks friends). How this inept grandma managed to search out old acquaintances, relatives, classmates, former co-workers, neighbors, or they reached out to me with my limited technical capabilities. Reconnecting with them has brought me countless blessings for which I’m eternally grateful. I enjoy being a small part of their lives. Family get togethers, scads of pictures, grandkids, vacations, joys, goof ups, even issues that are not always joyous like an illness or surgery. It’s been a 2 way street with my friends. They seem mildly interested in what’s going on in my life. 

The part of Facebook I’m struggling with is the (anti) social part. Since I’m not a charter member I wonder if some folks on Facebook have always placed their political agenda upfront & center? Angry comments on opposite political leaning memes. So many different groups, screaming to be heard (through the written word). I would not have made a good lawyer. Although I have strong opinions, I don’t like to argue. To what end? Am I really going to change anyone’s mind typing my opinions? Never. And I don’t want to lose friends because I view the world completely differently than they do. I might make a comment on something I agree with, but it’s very unusual for me to argue/vent/rant about something I feel is completely off the charts. I have on occasion but it’s rare. But it’s getting harder for me not to comment. And I find that troubling.

I don’t recall much negativity on Facebook until about a year before the 2016 election. Maybe there was but it wasn’t noticeable to me. Of course my friends list was well under 100, thus as the number of my friends increased, so did the big divide on anything political. (I’m an equal opportunity friend to both sides of the political spectrum. Yay me). 

It seemed to me half of the country perceived President Obama on the same level as our Savior, while the other half of America viewed him as the devil incarnate. Political memes started showing up on my newsfeed. Liberal, conservative & off-the-wall-crazy. I absolutely couldn’t wait for the election to be over with so we could get back to normal SOCIAL media. Well slap me upside the head and call me naive. Facebook memes have gotten worse and much more frequent since the election, at least on my newsfeed. I was really counting on a 2 year reprieve before the large mass of politicians/Hollywood stars hit the road, vying for who’s gonna live in the White House after the election in 2020. I didn’t get my much needed 2 years. I didn’t get 2 months. Not even 2 days. No, I believe the day after the election was the worst day ever on Facebook.

Most of me hates every political meme, right or left. But part of me is so discouraged with spiteful posts, I’m inclined to jump into the fray. And that’s not a good thing. Angry comments are not conducive to my calm, happy demeanor. (Sarcasm added to lighten the mood) I don’t want to unfriend, unfollow or stoop to a lower level. On most days I can easily scroll past derogatory stories with nary a blip. I do mean MOST days. I refrain from reading negative comments (and making my own dumb ass comments) on memes I find questionable. I do this instead. There are 3 tiny dots on the upper right hand corner of each post in my newsfeed. (Are you shocked I know this? Me too). When you touch these dots you’re given these options:  

1. Save   

2. Hide from my newsfeed  

3. Snooze this person for 30 days  

4. Unfollow   

5. Give feedback on this post   

6. Turn on or off notifications on this post.  

See, we all have options. I use # 2 frequently, because some posts bother me. Bashing one side or the other, name calling, with no real solution. I just remove the post from my newsfeed. Easy peasy. (Although they’re not always easily forgotten). You gotta wonder, who thinks up this crap? And why does anyone find it necessary to repost it? Some seem so full of hate, it literally scares me.

I understand getting worked up when a disturbing meme rolls across your newsfeed. (Hmm, well that’s certainly a questionable statement. Nope, this one here might be downright batshit crazy). But I will never, ever understand giving up a friendship over a Facebook post. That’s just petty and shallow. I can’t possibly be the only person on Facebook with friends who believe (and post) the exact opposite of what I believe, right? Am I? Has anyone tossed away a friendship because you’ve been offended by a picture, quote or comment? Have you cut someone out of your life over controversial issues on Facebook? Not me. I’m even hesitant to unfollow friends. Most of their posts are great, thoughtful-about their family. We may feel completely opposite on key issues like the size of our government, abortion, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness (ok, now I know for a fact you’ve gone off the reservation with that post, get back on your meds-stat. Just kidding) but you’re my friend and I want to remain friends. I’m choosing friendship over feuding about things we often cannot do anything about anyway. All it does is spread hate.

So I’m stuck (mostly happy) in the middle of 2 very different sides in America, and will continue to ignore (biting my lip, shaking my head, feeling sad and leaving my fingers idle) unpleasant posts. If there was an alternative Facebook where I could keep all my friends but every stinking, hollow, mean spirited, political meme, statement, argument and comment were prohibited, I would join in a heartbeat. Making my social media-well more sociable again. Not the world we live in today. Too bad, laments the naive Storyteller from a one-stoplight-town…

It wasn’t much of an ‘aha’ moment, but a decision I’ve been waiting for since 1985. (In some areas I have the patience of Job). From the first time I used L’Oréal to color my salt & pepper hair when I was in my early 30’s, I assumed when I hit a big milestone in my life, I’d simply quit dyeing my hair. Ha. Milestone after milestone zipped by. My 40th, 50th & 60th birthdays. Clearly I was not emotionally ready to give up brown hair. And just like that thirty years slipped past. 

I haven’t worked in the infant room since October. Makes me sad. Stopped working because something’s wrong with my leg. Pain and swelling causing me to limp. It just got to be too much on hard surface floors, lugging those adorable babies around. So I made an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, and have been staying home, getting lazy. One week at home, bam, it hit me. I was washing my hands, glanced in the mirror and thought, I’m not gonna use L’Oréal again. (Think my winter-stay-at-home-status had a lot to do with the timing of my decision, though it was unconscious). Who knew this monumental decision would occur like a casual random thought? So simple. No gnashing of teeth, no wringing of hands. Huh. (Since I am spending more time at home, co-workers aren’t gawking at my head with revulsion. On the other hand, I waltz into Landon’s basketball games like I look and feel semi-normal). 

 I never tried squeezing an extra week out of my dye job. Same thing goes when Hubs is stripping an antique. “I’m not here to save half a container of stripper,” he says as he begins. Glops that crap on good and thick, waits a few minutes and either use a paint scraper or steel wool. That’s how I felt about L’Oréal. When the instructions state you can go 6-8 weeks in between uses, they lie. My gray roots were half an inch long by week 4 and my hair looked drab and faded. As a rule I stretched it out to 5 weeks (max) before opening another box of # 7, dark blonde. Wonder how many dye jobs I’ve had? Hmmm, if I used an average of 10 boxes a year for 33 years. Wow, that’s a lot of peroxide on my head, seeping inside. Vanity, ugh.

It was that mindset that’s plagued me since I started on my L’Oréal roller coaster. Just the thought of those glaringly prominent gray roots on the top of my head sent me into a panic and caused me to hyperventilate. Knew once I finally made a decision to grow out my natural color, life was going to be a bitch. I’d wear a hat everywhere, (if I dared to leave the house at all), dwelling in my dark basement for months or spend major bucks highlighting my hair (again, which seems silly since I’m trying to rid myself of all fake color on my head) to make the transition less ugly. Hogwash, hasn’t been the case at all.

I did buy a new hat in the beginning as week # 5 zipped by without temptation causing me to open another L’Oréal box (my stash of 7 unopened boxes still sit in on the shelf in the linen closet). I thought the hat would be the first of many I’d wear all winter. I’ve worn it-once. I have been styling (my hapless style can hardly be considered as such) my hair differently which has disguised or hidden most of the emerging white/gray matter rather well. That will not be the case after my next haircut though. Hubs kept saying, “you should see how white your hair is in back.” How is that even possible I thought? My hair has to be the same on the top, front and sides right? Not even close Einstein. 

When I finally found a mirror to check out the back of my head I was surprised. The back looks frosted. Underlying white with light brown tips. But because my hair on the bottom back is much shorter than the length on top of my head, it’s not going to be very much longer until most of my hair in back is salt & pepper (without brown highlights). Each time I’m in the bathroom I tilt my head forward to see how the top looks. Oh my. But I’m not mortified like I thought I would be. I find it humorous-as in ha-ha funny. For the record I’m amazed this mess makes me smile when I thought I’d be second guessing my decision, embarrassed to tears and wallowing in self pity. I’m kinda impatient how much time it’s taking to grow out. It’s short hair for Pete’s sake. I can’t imagine how long it would take if my hair was shoulder length. I’m about halfway now, so probably 3 months to go. 

So I continue with my hair-rowing, hair-raising mostly gray growth spurt. It actually hasn’t been as mortifying as I thought it would be. It’s difficult to visualize what I’m gonna look like when the drab brown ends are gone. I am hoping for gobs of white but there seems to be a healthy dose of various pepper shades surrounding my brain. That mystery will solve itself soon enough. A new pair of glasses is one of my first orders of business. Some neat frames which make my highly anticipated gray/white/silver/black head of hair-POP, exhibiting my effervescent enthusiasm for life. OK, now you know I’m just yanking your chain…

It’s mid-January and Landon’s (Drew to the rest of the world) senior basketball season is half over. Sniff, sniff where’s the Kleenex? I was determined not to miss a single game this season. I didn’t even make it through December (memorial service far away). The game I missed wasn’t important, just a Christmas break challenge with 8 schools participating. Pioneer lost-but Landon scored a season high of 31. Of course I wasn’t there, rooting for him or keeping stats. Both losses could actually be my fault. (He ain’t heavy, he’s my grandson).

Senior # 3 Landon, wearing a rare smile during the game against Skyline, 2019

Normally, I have a game day routine and stick to it. When I arrive at the gym while Landon is warming up, I get out my 4 year old journal (Landon’s entire high school basketball career by grandma) and set up a fresh page for tonight’s game. By hand, in ink, crooked lines included. In the case of Pioneer’s first loss (Landon’s only sub par game) against Canton, I ‘drew’ up my game page while farting around-at home-during the afternoon. What was I thinking? Their second loss was when I was out of town, unavoidable, but still.

My basketball journal of Landon thru high school. It’s actually showing some wear…

So to catch up, Pioneer’s had some blowouts, thus several of Landon’s games, he’s played very little or not at all during the 4th quarter. As it should be. If the starters are not needed, let them sit and give the rest of the guys some playing time. He’s averaging 20 points a game, not bad for missing quite a few 4th quarters. So far this season, he’s had a couple games with 25 plus points and an unusual game played before Christmas break.

Are you kidding me? One Landon surrounded by 4 Skyline players…

I believe for conference standings they need 14 games but for the year must play 20, so they scramble trying to find opponents to fill up their schedule early in the season. Pioneer’s last game before break was at home against Traverse City Central, which is quite far away. Conference play starts after Christmas.

Did I know anything about Traverse City? Not really. When Tracey was coaching Jackson High, the Vikings routinely played some big high school from Traverse City during preseason. After Jackson beat TC soundly 3 years in a row, they cried ‘uncle’ and no longer wanted to play the Vikings. Huh. This Traverse City team sure knew a lot about us. Especially Landon.

Number 3…

Pretty sure I know why. A couple weeks before the game there was a article on mlive about Michigan’s 2019’s Mr. Basketball. Every year an award is given to the best basketball player in the state. What position they play makes no difference. This article listed the early contenders and gave a short bio on each one. Landon was on the list. No surprise, he’s been one of the top guards in the state since his freshman year. Will he win? As a grandma and his # 1 fan I believe he’s the total package when it comes to one of the best all around players. Duh. The list named a dozen early hopefuls. I don’t know all the players but I’m quite familiar with 3. One is Landon’s teammate Kasean Pryor. Good shooter at 6’8” and doesn’t hesitate getting physical in the paint. While this is natural for most guys 6’8” Kasean runs about 40 pounds lighter than the rest of the swinging-elbow-brutes nearby. Another early Mr. Basketball possibility is from Ann Arbor Skyline, one of Pioneer’s arch rivals. His name is Ryan Wade, a left handed, good shooting guard. Ironically, both Ryan and Landon have committed to Holy Cross, so they’ll be playing college ball together. When they’re not wearing different colored uniforms on the court, they’re good friends. The third kid is amazingly talented. Played AAU ball with Landon a couple of summers. His name is Romeo Weems, 6’7”, and has been touted as the front runner since his sophomore year and will most likely win. If it’s not gonna be Landon I’d be happy if Romeo, Ryan or Kasean wins.

Ryan Wade with Landon hanging close…

It’s not unusual for the student section from the opposition to give a ration of shit to a specific player during a game. They’re high school kids, I get it. Landon’s really good. Several sport business groups have routinely made highlight videos and interview him after games. Plus Landon’s not above getting lippy during games. Seriously wish he could block out that stuff, but he can not. I’ve seen him glance in the stands once in a while. My deafness prevents me from hearing what’s been yelled, but as focused as he is on the game he still hears the taunts. But it’s usually the student body of schools in our conference who know Landon really well (except by his given name). Because they play each other at least twice a year, and they’ve watched him for 4 years.

Landon, not happy with the ref’s call…

But this obnoxious Traverse City team. They didn’t have many fans so I assume it was the junior varsity guys (their game was over) doing the harassing. But it was non-stop the whole game. Every time Landon touched the ball they chanted, “over-rated,” (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap). Every. Single. Time. You know how many times the point guard touches the ball coming down the court? A lot. Even to me, it was distracting. But here’s the deal.

Looking over options…

It was a close, low scoring, back and forth game. No sitting out the 4th quarter for the best ball handler in the building (state). Landon played all but a minute or 2. (Side note: I don’t know what Pioneer has done to their gym. but it’s been unbelievably warm in there. The boy’s faces are flushed after they warm up and the game hasn’t even commenced. I don’t ever remember the gym being this stinking hot. No, it’s not hot flashes. If I’m toasty, trust me everyone else is sweating buckets. Turn down the heat in there on game days-please). Pioneer led 22-19 at half. Landon had 9 of those points. We stretched the lead a bit in the third, only to lose it during the 4th quarter. But we squeaked out a 47-45 win. Landon ended up with 23, virtually half their total score. Over-rated? Not hardly. Now shut up and go home.

Who’s open…

Friday night was a big game against our rival, Skyline. We haven’t had the best success against them during the last 4 years, losing the last 4 in a row. Landon sprained his ankle last year against them and we lost by 20. Plus I hate their gym. (I’ll take Pioneer’s sauna compared to how steep Skyline’s gym is). I’ve been to the Coliseum in Rome, Skyline might have used the same architectural design. Narrow and steep steps. I only venture down about 2 rows beneath the wispy clouds when I’m at Skyline. Plop my butt down and don’t move. Peyton (our multi-talented, coordinated ballerina) almost tumbled down those killer steps a couple of years ago. Yikes.

He’s got a lot of drive…

But this game was at Pioneer with a packed house. You’d better get there early when we play Huron or Skyline. Both student sections were filled to capacity, harassing each other during the game. Skyline led by a point at halftime. Second half would swing our way, increasing our lead to double digits. A good game to win. Landon was spot on defensively but a little off his average and had 13. Pioneer is hoping to come out on top of the conference by season’s end and have a good tournament run. So at the midway point, we’re 8-2. Anxious to see how his year ends up, but not ready to have it be over. Go-Landon-go…

Landon’s official stat sheet by gram…

When one lives in Michigan (long winters-gobs of snow) and the holidays have just peaked for another year, any thoughts of winter travel usually includes heading south or several hundred miles west. This year after Christmas however, we found ourselves packing our warmest winter duds, checking The Weather Channel frequently, and praying for travel mercies in preparation for a seldom winter trip destination to-northwest Iowa! 

One of my favorite pictures of Elly…

The yearly pilgrimage to Iowa just as winter begins-ended decades ago when our kids were still young. The Hubs and I felt it was time to start our own Christmas family tradition. Instead, we traveled to Iowa during spring break or summer vacation to get together with family. Although I’ve lived in Michigan almost half my life-Iowa will always be my home. You might think just because they’re only a couple states apart the weather/seasons are similar. Heck no. Not even close. Iowa’s summer’s are hotter and more humid. Winter’s in Iowa are colder with more wind. Michigan usually wins the snowfall total. Spare me-please.

Jim, Arlyn, John, Elly & Les, 2002…

Spending much time during late December/early January in Iowa reminds me of a difficult birth/delivery. After your beautiful newborn makes their debut, you forget how miserable and painful labor was. Iowa’s just like that. While chugging our way west from Michigan, I didn’t have to check mile markers. It was easier to watch the outside temperature drop a degree every few miles. Started above freezing in Jackson, around 35. By the time we hit Spencer it was 7 and that wasn’t the low for the night. We would soon learn 7 above wasn’t that bad-as a couple of the days dipped several degrees below zero.

Elly showing Adam 7, her special Christmas tree, 1986…

I had forgotten how hard and crunchy snow sounds under my shoes when the temps really plunge, or how long it takes my windshield to defrost when not in a garage. I failed to fully appreciate most Michigan snow falls straight down from above, not out of the west at 20 mph with wind gusts often higher. I wasn’t even remotely surprised when I started my Jeep and was awarded a yellow warning light and beep telling me all 4 of my tires were low. On two different mornings. While I do most of the driving, Hubs is the gas and tire filler upper. One morning it was so freaking frigid it took him a long time to get the air in the tires back up to 36 psi. Finally done, he plopped into the Jeep with a groan. After a minute he said, “did you put my seat warmer on? Turn it off please. My butt’s so cold, I’m afraid it’ll crack.” We’re hopeless, that gave us the giggles-which felt really good. Probably better than it should have considering the reason and timing of why we were actually in Northwest Iowa during January.

John & Elly early 2000’s…

The way it began. Mid morning, 2 days after Christmas. I just started taking decorations off the tree. Love the tree, love the lights, but after Christmas is over I’m so done with decorations. I long/need/require (for sanity’s sake) my house back to normal. It would literally require me experiencing an epiphany to leave my house decorated until epiphany. I max out on the house being ‘out of whack’ after 3 weeks. Twitchy. Order needs to be restored. Posthaste.

The Christmas tree skirt Elly made for me, 1981…

Every year I go through the same ritual. Make an oath to myself before I set the tree up and get the ornaments out. I’m going to take my time and make some-hard-some-not-so-hard decisions about which ornaments perch on my tree, and the ones that no longer hold a tight grip on my heart strings. Every. Single. Year. Yet I never follow through. Never. I know which containers hold my favorite ornaments and start there. By the time I slip the lid off container # 4, I’m spent. Nope, I’ll have more time after Christmas to pick & choose what stays, what’s offered to the kids and what gets donated to the local religious thrift store after the family has celebrated the birth of Jesus for the year of our Lord, 2018. 

Elly made me this Nativity set in 1979…

Now there’s a couple hundred decorations laying around in separated piles all over the living room. Waiting patiently to be snuggled for the following 11 months in bubble wrap. Hubs phone rings. It’s our nephew Ken from Langdon, Iowa (near Spencer) with devastating news. His mom, John’s only sister passed away during the night. Although she was 88, the news is a shock and unexpected. We had just received a Christmas card from Elly. Hubs called her a couple weeks ago and they talked at length. Elly assured her baby brother she was feeling good, and still planning on trying to make it to her 90th birthday. She was getting along fabulously with her new cochlear implant (an updated replacement of her first version) and life was good.

The front of the card read, To my brother and sister-in-law…

Ken would call back after the kids decided when Elly’s memorial service would be held. John sat in his chair, numb, reminiscing about the sister he adored. They really had nothing in common, she was 18 years old when he was born. By the time John was 2, Elly had married Dewey. But the 5 years we lived in Spencer during the late 70’s changed all that. True, Elly & Dewey were my parents age, yet they became our best friends with a bond that would last the remainder of our lives, though we never lived close to them again. They became a third set of grandparents to our kids. Josh, then 7, reprimanded Adam (a toddler) constantly because Adam insisted on calling Elly and Dewey grandma and grandpa. 

Christmas 1973, Elly, Eleanor w/ Matt, Kerrie & Mag on the organ…

So early on December 29th, John and I head west for a long day of travel. Had some dicey weather as we dipped south to get around Lake Michigan by Chicago. An hour of sleet/rain mix slowing traffic down but the rest of the trip was uneventful. We arrived in Spencer unscathed but pooped 13 hours later, only to learn the hotel has no elevator. Up a long flight of stairs, lugging our suitcases with 2 bum legs, 2 tired backs and lacking enough ambition to waddle downstairs again to fill the ice bucket. On the upside, I slept really well the first night, which is rare.

Oh boy. Highway 18 on New Year’s Eve, 2018…

It’s difficult to look forward/anticipate/dread going to the actual service. No one’s ready to say goodbye to Elly. Mom to 4, gram to 10, great-grandma to 19, only sister to the 3 remaining brothers, (1 brother, Arlyn passed away 7 years ago). Plus friends-too numerous to count. The little Methodist Church of Langdon was packed like a can of sardines which is a testament of how much Elly was loved and admired. Though much of the circumstances were sad, it was great to hug and visit relatives I’ve not seen (or ever met other than Facebook posts & comments) for years. How come it’s always a funeral that binds/brings us together? 

Elly, me & Kerrie at our house in Spencer, 1979…

Lots of Elly anecdotes, goofy recollections and stories, accompanied by laughter and tears. The way she would have liked. I think Elly would have been blown away with the number of people, squeezing in shoulder to shoulder to pay tribute to HER. Amazed and humbled. 

Christmas in Spencer. Elly & Joshua 1980…

Elly had sold her big 2 story house after Dewey passed away in 2013. She moved to Langdon which is about 3 miles from Spencer, next door to Ken & Jeannie. Right across the street from 2 of her grandchildren, Ben and daughter Destiny in one house, Brandy and her family next door to Ben. Elly’s daughter Val lived right behind her. (Langdon or Lawrence-ville-it’s truly a family affair). Whenever we visited, we stayed with Ken & Jeannie, an easy way to spend time with Elly. John would head next door when he saw Elly drinking her morning coffee on the porch. We’d always have supper together and visit until Elly got tired and someone walked her home. After the memorial service it was hard to see Elly’s empty house or realize she wouldn’t be walking over to eat supper and spend the evening with us. 

Love this pic at Les’ house. Elly, Kristin, Ken & Kerrie around 2015…

Our dearest Elly, you were special, you were loved and you will be missed. I imagine she’s been singing regularly in heaven’s choir since she arrived. No longer bothered by her profound and annoying hearing loss, but belting out solos or duets with Dewey again. Preach…

Dewey and Elly, now singing duets with the angels…

 
It was the fall of 1970, and we just celebrated our first anniversary. We were broke, deep in debt, and expecting our first child. Sigh. We’ve all been there, right? Some of us just dumber & broker than others. 

The nomad clan of 2 (plus 1 expected soon) were on the move. Just a few miles outside of Sioux City. A small burg called Hinton. The little rental house was about 20 feet from Highway 75. Rent was half the cost of our adorable duplex but about the same size when we were needing more room. Remember the dumber part here folks. And when I say ‘little’ rental, I really mean it. This house might have been the original blueprint for tiny homes. Three rooms. 3. Maybe 600 square feet. A small kitchen with a tiny bathroom off of it. A good sized living room, thank goodness, it had to be. It was part living room with our early American couch, chair and gigantic 13 inch color TV. Part dining room with our early American 48” round maple table and 4 chairs. Plus part nursery with our garage sale bargain, 5 dollar, lemon yellow, lead based painted crib with 6 slats per side. Awaiting the birth of our yet to be determined baby boy or girl. The only bedroom barely held our early American queen size maple bed and one dresser. The bed was shoved tight against the wall so we could walk sideways to our tiny closet. The double dresser wouldn’t fit, thus it also resided in the living, family, dining, nursery room multiplex. 

One would assume living within 20 feet of Highway 75 might be bothersome. Au contraire. The rumbling tires beneath fully loaded semi’s weighed down with cattle, hogs, or sheep headed to the Sioux City Stockyards had a natural numbing hum. Highway 75 traffic was a nice distraction that could lull you to sleep. The local cops were diligent about handing out tickets for those who chose to drive through our sleepy burg above the 35 mph speed limit. Heck, it was the way Hinton was financed.

It was just a titch east of Highway 75 that drove us to drink. Railroad tracks. Such a picturesque setting looking out our front door. Constantly moving railroad cars. The trains literally shook our house. The glass in the windows rattled. The floors vibrated. Day and night. Located directly behind the train tracks were (still are) massive silos. Sometimes the trains unloaded grain into the silos, other times the silos were emptied into rail cars.

That tiny house would forever remain a special place in our hearts because we brought Shannon Marie home from the hospital. She was born in early December. I remember this more clearly than I can recall yesterday. She was reclining in a cheap plastic seat on the hardwood floor looking cross-eyed at the lights on our crooked, nearly ornament-free tree.

Something relatively new on TV, geared towards young children was all the rage. A program called Sesame Street. Maybe not as as young as 2 months but Shannon was incredibly bright and I couldn’t risk her missing out. ‘Bob’ from Sesame Street was teaching a lesson on opposites. Shannon was paying close attention. Bob ran towards the camera filming him and when he was very close said, “near.” Then he ran 20 feet away from the camera, tuned around and said, “far.” Shannon got it. 

Our landlord’s name was Louie, but dick would have been more appropriate. He was not nice but greedy and mean. The only decent thing he ever did was waltz over one day to announce he had another rental in town with 2 bedrooms if we were interested. Same rent per month. This was very good news. About 2 blocks off Highway 75 in more of a neighborhood setting. Huge yard with a garage. Little bit run down but Louie was willing to knock off some rent, buy materials to fix a couple things if John was willing to do the labor. Always handy, Hubs happily agreed to make the house a better place. 

Wow, a 5 room house. Kitchen, dining, living room and 2 bedrooms. John laid cheap harvest gold linoleum squares in the kitchen and bath. Painted the cupboards white which helped a lot. Only downside of the house-no furnace. An oil stove/heater sat in the corner of the dining room. Even though the house was small, 900 square feet-tops, the farther away you were from the oil burner, the colder you felt. Fuel oil was expensive and we lacked the money to buy it sometimes. The oil company insisted on cash for fuel oil which was almost impossible for this destitute family of 3. When the oil tank was bordering empty, Shannon and I would go stay with Mom & Dad in Rock Valley until payday. Poor John spent much of the winter, alone, hunkered under every blanket because we had no heat. 

We had some great neighbors when we lived in our furnace-less house. An older couple, Clarence & Ida (probably in their late 50’s, both were still working) were as friendly and devoted to us as their scary-ass-mean-smart-manipulative-demonic-barking-biting-bastard-Chihuahua dog allowed. Ginger, all whopping 10 pounds (although that’s what the real scale read, Ginger knew in her heart she tipped the scales well over 125 pounds and wasn’t afraid to throw her weight around when and where needed). And lest I forget to mention, Ginger sported some nasty habits. 

1. She smoked. (I shit you not. Clarence and Ida had built her a throne which allowed Ginger to be near the top of their antique oak table. They would put a lit cigarette in the side of Ginger’s mouth. Ginger played her part to perfection. She would tilt her head up and a bit sideways and squint her eyes like Tony Soprano. She ran that mafia.
2. Ginger drank coffee. A lot of coffee. From a dainty cup sitting in a matching saucer. And you best add the right amounts of cream and sugar if you valued either of your hands. Or face.
3. Ginger was the Queen. To be adored, spoiled, coddled and pampered. If you think a beautiful, smart, adorable 7 month old baby girl could compete easily or knock Ginger off her throne, you were in for a world of hurt. We kept Shannon far away from Ginger. There was never any doubt who was in charge of that household. Ever. We signed the appropriate paperwork Ginger handed to us the day we moved in. Deep in her black, pinky nail sized heart, Ginger was threatened by this small, cooing, winsome creature her slaves now fawned over occasionally. That simply would not do. Ginger let us know the roles and rules we would play (or pay dearly) when in her realm. Period. 

Clarence and Ida were a dear couple we thoroughly enjoyed but there never was a moment when we weren’t on guard when the Queen was among us. Her castle, her rules. 

Keith and Patty lived in back and off to the side of us. They were a little older than us and had 2 kids who rivaled Ginger in their charming personalities. Geez, was it the water or the entire neighborhood just odd? Threatened by our darling, precocious infant daughter. Patty had a beauty shop in her house, plus about 4 other part time jobs. Keith worked second shift at Sioux Tools and didn’t like to work. At all. Since Hubs worked nights at Channel 4, they became pretty good friends (when Keith wasn’t trying to kill John), doing stuff at midnight when they got home. 

About the night I almost lost my husband of less than 3 years. Keith wanted to go raccoon hunting after work-in the dark-using a spotlight. Hubs was game (a stab at hunting humor). Keith was driving a 1968 Chevy. After prowling around for a couple hours west of Hinton and doing some shooting they were ready to call it a night. Keith walked to the driver’s door and handed John his .243 rifle through the window. When John grabbed the gun, Keith was supposed to take his finger off the trigger-but did not. Resulting in a bullet going through the floorboard, the clutch and bell housing. But not through Hubs though he was deaf for several days. Turned out to be quite an expensive car night for the dumb ass. Keith, not deaf for a few days Hubs.

Most of the time John and Keith went fishing at the river after work. Hubs  always brought a couple of beers, but Keith never drank a beer-he was a Methodist after all. One rare date night John and I were doubling with another couple, (cannot remember who was with us). After supper at Anna Mae’s Townhouse, (best lasagna and French onion soup) as a joke, I was giving Hubs a hard time about going to Joe’s Cocktail Lounge (a strip club). The guys finally relented and we stopped for a nightcap. (The gals did not take off everything, they just seemed to have a lot of layers on to slowly remove). We were waiting for our drinks and I was gawking all over when who do you think I spotted? Keith-alone in a corner booth, nursing a beer. I poke Hubs and subtlety pointed out our teetotaler, sharp shooting, beer drinking neighbor, feasting his eyes on the cast of strippers. John quietly slinks away from our table, heads to the bar, orders another Hamm’s Beer (from the land of Sky Blue Wa-ters) and slides right next to Keith, not allowing him an escape route. Gives him a HUGE ration of shit, starting with “Hi Keith, where’s Patty?” “Umm, she’s in Winnebago visiting her folks. You aren’t going to tell her are you?” Of course John never would, but their relationship was never quite the same. Keith was forever worried that Patty would learn about his unforgivable deadly sin. 

One day, out of the blue, Louie (the dick) stopped by to let us know he had sold our rental and we had 30 days to vacate the premises. Well shit. Managed to find a house requiring a minimal down payment and bought our first home in Sioux City. Not very far from our little duplex in Leeds where we began married life. The house was huge, needed lots of work and paint plus the yard was a hopeless mess-but for a couple of years it was our wonderful home. Guess I have to thank Louie (the dick) for that little push…