There’s no denying it, I’m a homebody. My house is my sanctuary and I’m pretty content to stay home. A lot. We eat in 90% of the time and that’s usually my decision. I don’t mind meal planning, cooking, baking, cleanup or dishes (except for utensils. Geez I hate washing every stinking piece of silverware). I’m happy at home. I’ve never had a case of wanderlust, although I enjoy visiting new places. Maybe it’s the hotels, restaurants and hours in a car or plane which lend to my dislike of being gone for more than a couple days. I get homesick for my kids, grands, house, bed, bathroom, even my own cooking. Bizarre I know but it’s the way I’m wired.

My first long adult vacation outside my comfort zone was at a resort in Cancun for 8 days in 2012 for Josh and Erica’s destination wedding. (I had vacationed elsewhere, never as far away or as long). What made Cancun immensely enjoyable (besides J & E’s lovely ceremony overlooking the Caribbean) was having most of our immediate family at the same resort. I tried new things like scuba diving, drinking margaritas until my nose and lips were partially paralyzed (it was two, honest 2), shopping for souvenirs, eating different foods. Besides narrowly avoiding slamming my head on several 8 inch nails protruding on the underside of their less than OSHA approved massive dock at the resort there is not one negative I have about that fabulous trip. The rooms were beautiful (ours had the best view), the staff was attentive and polite, the food in several restaurants onsite, above average.

But I’ve never been bit by the bug to see the world. So why did this stay at home grandma take not one, but 2 trips abroad-2 years in a row? What would possess me when I’d managed to stay state side (besides the wedding) for 65 years with nary a inkling to travel outside the US? Guess that depends on who’s asking. It was my daughter Shannon-both times. (She’s got the travel bug). The first trip was 12 days in Italy. Rome, Florence, Assisi and Venice. I literally knew nothing about any of these cities or the popular spots that made them famous. Once we landed and began to tour, it was overwhelming. My mind (and body) just couldn’t keep up. Sistene Chapel, Vatican, Duomo Cathedral (it’s pink, white and green marble) Michelangelo’s David, Priscilla’s catacombs, Saint Francis in Assisi and my top vote getter, The Coliseum. And the few I mentioned were just the tip of the iceberg that our group took in. But the stop I think about most often? Just hold on for a sec.

My trip to France in 2017 (Germany was just a quickie side trip) wasn’t well planned. No tour guide who had you at the train station at 7 am, forking over a ticket, telling me how long the ride was, here’s your breakfast box, then handing me an itinerary 3 pages long. Yup, every second was accounted for. In Paris we had no agenda, so when Shannon said, “we only have 3 days for sightseeing. These are the biggies, take your pick.” I don’t know if I was just more impressed with what France had to offer (in my mind France had never been very impressive) or that we were on our own without direction or supervision. Since I never really wanted to go to France, it came as a pleasant surprise when The Louvre, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and Arc de Triomphe impressed me. Much more than I thought they would.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not always the most breathtaking, stunning beauty of our world’s land, seas, or structure destinations that stay in our hearts and minds long after we’ve returned to reality after witnessing such impressive places. I think you’re gonna be surprised with my top pick. I am. Please remember I’m not a world traveler, but I don’t think my list is shabby either. Here’s a quick rundown. No one wants to hold down last place but someone’s gotta take one for the team.

7. Mount Rushmore. It’s big and impressive. I was speechless for a couple minutes which is not an easy feat. During one of our trips some maintenance work was being done and workers were hanging precariously all over the faces. Looked like a nose hair or booger hanging out of George Washington’s nose from where I stood. Worth remembering, right?

6. The Caribbean. Only God can make those water colors. Well played God. I was impressed.

5. Notre Dame. Walking towards it on a gray, rainy morning, I still had to stop for a couple minutes simply to take it all in. Construction started 850 years ago. Unbelievable. The stained glass windows are indescribable.

4. Eiffel Tower. It’s relatively new compared to most structures in France, built for the 1889 World’s Fair. Aww, just a baby, but I love it. You can see most of Paris from any level, (I only made it up to the first) which is stunning.

3. The Coliseum in Rome. It’s huge, and held more than 60,000 screaming fans back in the day. It makes Notre Dame appear brand new, construction started in 70 AD. Those Romans were certainly fit as a fiddle. I didn’t take out my tape measure but the steps between rows are not of our world. Each step had to be 12-16 inches tall. Not easy climbing up or down. (I had a terrible time deciding if the Coliseum should be #3 or ratchet it up a notch to number 2. My cross to bear).

2. Niagara Falls. Absolutely my favorite spot on earth. I’ve been there several times and each time I have a harder time leaving. I’m hooked on the American side. You can almost touch the falls by the Bridal Veil. I’ve watched fish go over the Falls in that clear, mint green water. Breathtaking.

1. Florence American Cemetery and Memorial, about 8 miles outside of Florence, Italy. After we were dropped off, the vastness of 70 acres, the quiet, solemn beauty, incredible landscaping, reflecting pool, statues, wall plaque, American flag flying proudly. Row after row, after row of white crosses on exquisite green grass immediately brought tears to my eyes. Forty-four hundred of America’s finest fighters buried here, most lost in June of 1944 after Rome was captured. While the natural beauty of the Caribbean and Niagara Falls are mesmerizing, or exploring the Coliseum and Notre Dame are mind boggling in their engineering and workmanship from centuries ago, for me it’s been the most constant reminder of what Memorial Day on the 30th of May’s true meaning is about. Their service and dedication, fighting for the greater good. For us in a foreign country. The ultimate sacrifice. Where would we as a nation be without them?

Memorial Day (originally called Decoration Day) was a way of recognizing and honoring the men and women who died while serving in our military. It started soon after the Civil War and was observed on May 30th each year from 1868 through 1970. In 1971 it became a federal holiday and has been celebrated on the last Monday of May ever since.

I’m still puzzled why visiting the American Cemetery in Florence, Italy had such a profound affect on me 7 years ago. It’s akin to seeing any the aforementioned natural or man made wonders of the world for the first time-yet totally different. I never truly appreciated the real meaning of Memorial Day until I spent a couple hours at a cemetery in a far away land, weeping and paying respect to our most deserving. That visit has changed my life-for the better…

I went to France and Germany in 2017. It was an impromptu trip. Who does that? My guess, usually not the person who never had a desire to travel abroad. Shannon was there for about a month while Peyton (13 at the time) toured with group of like-minded talented singers from Blue Lake Fine Arts camp.

Shannon was alone in France for a week after Tracey and Landon flew back to the States. She had rented an apartment and car, so when she offered the invite, my only cost was my flight, food and souvenirs. What the heck, I’m in. In fact when I look back, I sincerely wish I’d stayed another 2 days. There wasn’t enough time to do all the things I had on my list (the list just miraculously appeared, The Louvre, Versailles, Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, Arc de Triomphe, Normandy American Cemetery ) but with 2 days of travel back and forth to enjoy Peyton’s last concert, my sightseeing time was limited. (Note to self: 5 years down the road the cost of staying 2 more days will be negligible but the memories I should have experienced are irreplaceable. Stay the extra 48 hours).

I like calendars. I once did a story about my calendars I’ve kept. They’re kinda like mini-diaries with stuff I jot down, births, deaths, doctor visits, trips, weather oddities like snow showers during May, just snippets of my mundane life. While I was in France I bought an inexpensive calendar for 2018, mostly for the gorgeous monthly pictures of spots I got to see and some that I missed. Did the same thing when I was shopping in Germany. Nice little reminder of my impromptu trip.

After I’d been home a couple months I found the 2 calendars in a bag in my magazine rack. Tore off the plastic and enjoyed the pictures. Smugness for some, “yeah, I’ve been there, and my pictures of Notre Dame are definitely better than this lame shot in the calendar.” Regrets on other months, “why in the world did I fly back on Saturday? That was nuts. Why didn’t I stay and let Shannon take me to Versailles and Normandy? Dumb, dumb, dumb. I’ll never get that opportunity again. Foolish.”

A couple months later, maybe December I got the calendars out again. I go through each month ahead of time where I jot down the stuff I want to remember for the upcoming year. That’s when I noticed something odd about the calendars from Europe. The days of the week are listed in the wrong order. Or maybe not. Since we read from left to right their weeks started with Monday, ending with Sunday. Our calendar week starts with Sunday and end with Saturday which really doesn’t make much sense when you think about it.

It all started in the Bible. God had this monumental work project to complete. And the sundial was ticking. He let His imagination run wild with saltwater fish. I mean a clown fish wiggling around in an anemone, not many could put that one together. There were lions and tigers and bears, oh my, but also aardvarks, anteaters and zebras. Can you just imagine the fun He had with spots and stripes? He invented clouds and wanted them quite specific, cirrus, cumulus, stratus. Not done in your typical New York minute. The sun, which is indeed life sustaining (thanks for the sun God, you could let it shine more often in Michigan when you get a minute), moon for the whole in & out tide thingy, stars for the constellations, a wide variety of trees, annuals and perennials (for those of us who don’t plant every year because we hate it). He went a bit over the top with bugs, butterflies, bees, flies, cockroaches and dung beetles. I bet He cracked a smile more than once during those frenzied 6 days of creation. But one would have to question His wisdom with the whole mosquito fiasco. (Just keeping it real here God).

So 2 things happened recently that have me leaning towards the European way of this calendar business. Remember I illegally latched on to the Sioux Falls mayor’s challenge of walking 100 miles in 100 days, which started on April 20th (a Monday). As I keep track of my weekly mileage, my walk week would end on Sunday night. (Ok, gonna brag. Today is the last day of my fourth week in the challenge and I’ve logged 131 miles of walking).

The second thing is about my music while I walk. It’s old and tiresome, like me. Good music but the same crap day after day, year after year. I just can’t get motivated to check into iTunes and buy some songs. It’s time consuming and spending $1.29 a song takes a huge commitment on my part. Instead I did something that took just as long, but didn’t cost anything. Rearranged most of the songs I already have. Deleted every playlist in my library and started over. Started with my absolute top 25 favorites, allowing only one song from an artist on each list. My goal was a different playlist for each day of the week, and I didn’t want to use shuffle. Thought it would be more fun and better for my head if I tried to memorize (know/anticipate) what song was coming up next. This hasn’t worked very well, I either have too many songs on each list or not enough. One day the last song ended and I assumed it would just start over, but all I got was silence and slower feet. I can’t do anything as I’m walking so I had to stop, get out my phone, start the playlist over. With mace in one hand and my walking stick in the other. No can do.

Who in the world decided our calendar weeks should start with Sunday? It’s more logical to start with Monday, the first day of the work week for most folks? Ending the week with our 2 day weekend of Saturday and Sunday? God didn’t have any issues creating an entire world in a few days did He? Paraphrasing here, “six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work, but the 7th day is the sabbath. In it thou shall not do any work. Almost 70 years old and just figured out Sunday should be the last day of the week on calendars, not the first. Go figure…

There are many reasons I look forward to the month of May. The temperatures are (usually) warmer, it gets dark much later in the day. Last weekend was the perfect example. Three days of sunshine with temps in the 60’s and 70’s. Took my morning walk in short sleeves and capris, without a jacket for the first time this year (and we’re well into month 5, ugh. Winter seems to last longer than the other 3 seasons-combined).

Gathered my cold weather walking gear, warm cargo pants, winter coat, long johns, Cuddl duds, gloves, scarf and headed downstairs to wash and dry all of it. Folded everything and stored it in one spot ready for the very distant November I don’t even want to think about. Monday morning dawns in the 30’s with a stiff breeze and the windchill in the 20’s. Hauled out all my clean ‘November walking clothes’ which I’ve now worn all week. Midweek days were a bit better, left my gloves home and wore a lighter coat for 2 days, but the forecast had frost/freeze warnings with highs in the low 40’s this weekend. This morning’s temperature registered in at 25. Not exactly a freeze warning but 7 degrees below freezing. May 9th, 25 degrees, add the 9 mph winds and it feels like the mid-teens. Welcome to springtime in Michigan.

I’ve experienced 3 pregnancies during my life resulting in 3 (now adult) children. Firstborn was in December, not a bad time to have a baby, mostly due to my size (cute round little belly) during the summer before she was born. The stuck-in-the-middle-with-you pregnancy concluded in early May, which I’ve determined is the perfect time to bring a new life into the mix.

First you’re not ‘showing ’til it’s snowing’ and by spring your baby’s here so you don’t have to buy multiple seasons of maternity clothes which we all grow tired of very quickly. Plus the baby’s so tiny, it’s easy to haul him around during the summer. He was often perched on the front bench seat of our car while I drove. How did our kids survive to adulthood? There but by the grace of God go I (with my kids in tow precariously) Second, Joshua was my only baby born on his due date without a lot of fuss. He was my happy, contented thumb sucker.

The baby-of-the-family pregnancy signed off in mid-September. No one plans a September baby. No one. I was the size of an 18 wheeler by August. In Iowa. Blistering. Hot. Humid. Iowa. Lugging a 30 pound watermelon right under my sweaty boobs. I thank the good Lord for giving us Adam but May-June or November-December would have been much more appreciated in the year of 1979.

The beginning of May in my younger years marked the time I was done getting my tan. I’d be as brown as I wanted to get before the first of May. Not a fan of sweating (ever) so I’d lay out in March & April when it was in the mid to upper 50’s in Iowa. To maintain all summer long required an hour a week outside. By January I’d be looking pretty peaked. I know, not good for me, but I loved brown legs.

On May 5th, 1990, 30 freaking years ago, the Hubs and I stopped smoking-cold turkey-and stuck to it. I’d like to say it was a tough 3 months but who am I kidding? It was one tough year. John chewed gum with such a vengeance the inside of his cheeks looked like ground chuck. I suffered insomnia but we got through it (with the patience and understanding of Job on my part. Duh)

May Day was a huge reason for celebration when I was a kid. Mom and Dad were not big holiday celebrators so I appreciated the ones we did. For some reason Mom enjoyed planning/preparing/delivering May Day baskets, going out of her way to make the day really special. Every year she had clever ideas for the deluge of baskets we’d make together and bring to friends. The trick was not getting ‘caught and kissed’ after you delivered the basket to the front door of a friend, neighbor or teacher’s house. One of my fondest kid memories.

The month of May brings Lily’s of the Valley, Tulips, and Lilacs. For the first time in our married life, we’ve planted 3 lilac bushes. White, lilac and darker purple. None have bloomed yet but they have grown and look healthy so I’m hopeful for a few blossoms, maybe this year.

We lived on a lake for 20 plus years. The month of May was baby month for bunnies, birds, deer, ducks and geese. Since we moved 5 years ago I go past a small pond on my walk every morning. Sure enough a few days ago a Canadian goose couple added 4 yellow fuzz balls. (Baby goslings stay yellow and fuzzy about 10 days. After that they resemble their parents, minus girth). They stay pretty close to the edge of the water and are often on the bank as I’m walking past. They scold me every morning for the interruption as they slink back in the water. All the while I’m complimenting their lovely brood and assuring them I mean no harm. “Honk, honk, don’t give me any guff lady, just keep on walking,” they repeat loudly each morning-twice. I really like May babies.

What’s not to like about Mother’s Day in the month of May? From the time I was in elementary school, assuring Mom she was loved and appreciated was one of the top priorities of our teachers. Homemade invitations for a Mother’s Day tea/luncheon took up an afternoon at school. Corny cards with sappy poems were sent home with us on Friday with strict instructions to hide them until Sunday morning, then proudly present it to Mom. I still have several I made for her (she kept everything). This year’s gonna be different because of the keep-your-butt-at-home-safety-precautions, but the Hubs will buy me an ice cream and I’ll probably talk or text with most of my brood.

May means Memorial Day. When we lived in Iowa, Memorial weekend meant the kids were finished with school for the summer (not so in Michigan, they don’t get out until mid-June). The end of May means the lilacs are blooming, sometimes peonies and Iris’s. The weekend we as a nation remember, mourn and honor those in the military who made the ultimate sacrifice. But we also remember our loved ones who have passed away. I learned this very early in life when my 12 year old brother was killed when I was 7. Every year Mom, Dad and I would decorate Larry’s grave on Memorial weekend with lilacs, peonies and Iris’s. Our way of acknowledging he was still loved and thought about. Can’t see, think or smell lilacs without thinking about Larry. Yes, the month of May still holds a lot of meaning for me…

Sioux Falls was the closest big city when I was growing up. My much smaller Iowa town where I was born was southeast of Sioux Falls by about 40 miles. Back in the early 1960’s, Sioux Falls wasn’t even that big, but compared to Rock Valley (population under 2,000) it was a metropolis. Sioux Falls offered the first of many things for this teen, pizza, fast food (McDonald’s), K-Mart, all night truck stop, plus a bustling downtown filled with fancy clothing stores, movie theaters with amazing architecture. The actual “Falls” for which the city was named alone is worth a trip. The pink/red Sioux Quartzite boulders/rocks which allow the waterfall’s 100 foot drop is stunning. Yup, Sioux Falls was the first city I ever loved.

Sioux Falls was also the first city where I committed a crime. Cliff note version: I stole (borrowed really, stole is so harsh) my host’s family car during a slumber party and drove it to the aforementioned all night truck stop with a load of girls egging me on for hamburgers at 2 in the morning. Then drove back, nestled it in it’s rightful parking spot with nary a dent or scratch, minus a half tank of gas. Ok, I was 14 and didn’t have my learner’s permit yet. Details, meh.

Both the Hub’s and I were fascinated with Sioux Falls and tried to move their numerous times during our long checkered marriage (I jest, we’re good people, well basically pretty good), but never managed to call that city home. The closest we came was in the early 70’s when Hubs had a job offer to work at Litton Industries, making microwaves, which were in their infancy. We wanted to take that job so bad. It all came down to money. We were starving working at Zenith in Sioux City. We just couldn’t take a pay cut to go to Litton, so Hubs turned it down. (Ended up moving to eastern Iowa, making toy tractors for a handful of crazy brothers (I kid you not, they were freaking nuts). Looking back it might have been better to take the cut in pay.

Lived in eastern Iowa, moved back to the northwest part, back to east side of the state, then the biggest jump of all, the move to Michigan in 1987 which we thought would be temporary, yet remain to this day. Didn’t see that one coming. The allure holding us here are our 3 adult children, their spouses, 4 grandchildren and one great grand, thus Iowa no longer has a very strong hold on us, but it remains number one in my heart.

I would dare say during our 30 plus years in Michigan we have gone back to Iowa to visit relatives 60-75 times. I could count on one hand how many of those visits did NOT include a trip to Sioux Falls, and I’d still have a couple fingers leftover. They have a lot to offer. Usually shopping trips because Sioux Falls built a couple of fabulous malls. South Dakota also deals in both Black Hills Gold and turquoise and silver jewelry which I’ve collected over the years, so that was a definite draw. Michigan might have more colleges and professional sports teams than Iowa, but we’ve never given up on the Hawkeyes (closest thing to a pro team as Iowa’s ever gonna get) so we were constantly looking for cool Iowa clothes.

So I have this special friend from my home town (one of many I’d like to think). Her name is Alma and she’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. (A much, much, much better writer than my nonsense. I’m insanely jealous of her clever style, and her vocabulary is phenomenal). Anyway, I gotta stop on the accolades for Alma or I’ll never get to Paul. Alma had a knee replacement a month before I did last year, so our recovery and progress have been similar. Moving forward with baby steps, hiccups causing a step back now and then.

Well Alma’s son is the City attorney for Sioux Falls, so he works for the mayor. Now we’re getting somewhere. The mayor is Paul. (Geez, that took long enough). Don’t know Paul, doubt if I’ll ever meet him but I like what I’ve read about him. He’s the same age group as my kids. Side note: Paul’s last name is very familiar to me. When I was a kid, Mom worked at a hatchery in Rock Valley, candling eggs (which involves closely inspecting the eggs. Mom held 4 eggs at a time in a windowless, pitch black room) under a very strong pinpointed light to spot any defects. She worked for a couple of guys, one was named Harold Ten Haken, which happens to be mayor Paul’s last name. I don’t know if they’re related. The name may sound unique but in northwest Iowa it’s quite common (and understated compared to some of the Dutch names).

Some of you know I’ve been a pretty consistent walker since 1998. The last 5 years have been injury prone but I’ve rediscovered how much better my life is when I start it off with a walk/music in the morning. After surgery, physical therapy, a fall, more therapy I decided it was time to start walking again “with purpose” as Al Swearengen would say. Bought new shoes, new headphones, developed a new attitude. Got an app to track my steps which has almost been my undoing. Don’t get me wrong, I love it but find it troubling that I’m this competitive-with an inanimate object. The first time I hit 10,000 steps in a day, my pedometer app rewarded me with a periwinkle ticker-tape explosion. “Aww, just for me? You shouldn’t have.”

But that was just the beginning. The app tracks a lot of data for and about me, most I’m clueless about. Floors, streaks, goals, milestones. But the more I hit the periwinkle daily goal of 10,000 steps (and my ticker tape parade) the more inclined I was to keep going, not break the streak, walking everyday. I have the feeling the person who developed this app has a warped personality. Take my stats for last week. I was plugging right along, hitting my daily goals when Thursday dawned with cold rain and wind. There’s not even a mall open where I could do some laps, but I was desperate, so I snuck into Meijer. (Don’t worry I wore a mask as a disguise, making it much harder to recognize me or breathe, plus it fogged up my glasses constantly. Gotta say, not a big fan of the mask). At the end of the day I had maybe 7,500 steps which shows up in yellow on the app. Next morning I noticed there were 4 tiny z’s in my disappointing slot, acknowledging me as a slacker/sleeper/slug for the day. Nothing like some derogatory implications for inspiration.

Alma retired after working as an RN in Sioux Falls most of her career so she still has a lot of ties to that city. She reposted a Sioux Falls challenge by mayor Paul. (He’s a fitness nut, does triathlons). His hope that through the Covid pandemic, the folks in his fair city will continue social distancing/common sense but at the same time exercise for their physical and mental health. His challenge is walking 100 miles in 100 days, which started April 20th. It’s on the honor system so Alma posted a selfie when she had reached a certain number of days/miles in a row. I complimented her and asked if you had to be a Sioux Falls resident to participate? (she is not) Could a foreign subject from waaay out east join in the challenge? She gave a hearty, “go for it Denise.”

Just when I’m getting this cool daily walking rhythm, a problem niggles in. I don’t know whether to call it my good leg or bad. It’s my left leg which still has the knee I was born with. Started aching all day long, in back, mid-thigh to mid calf. Not debilitating but bothersome, especially if I’ve been “dormant” for an hour or 2, then get up and try to move. Much as I’d like to continue with my frenzied pace, (hahaha) I think I’ve been a bit overzealous. However, now I risk the wrath/sarcasm/bullying issue by pissing off my pedometer app because I’m not hitting 10,000 steps a day.

For now it looks as though mayor Paul is gonna have to compete in his next triathlon (I’m not even quite sure what this event involves) without this great grandma. But I’m hoping to hit my first 100 miles of his 100 miles/100 days challenge way before the end of July. Since I don’t do selfies it’s doubtful he’ll know how many miles I walk before the challenge is over but I’ve started a new album in my pictures so I can keep track of my weekly successes though it’s not gonna total 35 miles a week like the last 2. Gotta be thankful and pleased I’m walking in earnest at all. And I am. Really…

He arrived on November 13th, 1934, in the middle of the Great Depression. The second child born to Jim & Mag during their marriage. He had a four year old sister named Eleanor who doted on her baby brother. Jim and Mag’s family would continue to grow, adding another 3 boys over the space of a couple decades. Leslie Dale in 1941, Arlyn Carl in 1944 and John Wayne (my Hubs) in 1948. They named their first son James Roger. All of them would carry shortened versions or nicknames through some or most of their adult lives. Elly, Jimmy, Les, Arly and Johnny Wayne. Jimmy and Arly strongly resembled their dad while Elly, Les and John looked like their mom’s side of the family.

It’s kinda weird. I always considered him ‘Jimmy’ when I talked about him, but after Jim Sr. passed away in 1987, Jimmy just sorta morphed into the ‘Jim’ status. He was done being a barkeep and ventured into the field of law enforcement, first as an officer, then as police chief. Jim just sounded older, more professional. You gotta have some street cred, even in a small town like Rock Valley. Now with the Hubs it didn’t take that long. Once he left Rock Valley, he preferred being called John so that’s how coworkers knew him. But Elly, Les and Arly’s names stuck, at least in the family.

I first met him in 1965. He was 30, (twice my age) big, intimidating with dark hair, piercing brown eyes. Business owner but not a place (it was just your small town, neighborhood bar) this teenage girl, who had the strictest parents in town should frequent. Mom and Dad always seemed to know where I was. They kept someone on retainer, trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. Not a chance. Actually I was a highly trained professional at dodging my parents on my last known whereabouts through my teens. I knew all the hiding places in that town.

Jimmy married a quiet gal named Eleanor in the fall of 1960. (I know, what are the chances that your only sister and brand new bride share the same first name? But Jimmy’s Eleanor was never Elly, at least not to me. She was always Eleanor). She had black hair and eyes. I knew her for 25 years and I’ve never met a person like her before or since. Not once in those 25 years did I ever hear her say a negative, derogatory, bad remark, or a sarcastic, unkind, hurtful word about another person. Or swear. Ever. Who goes through life like that? I mean there’s always a character or 2 in your life who drive you crazy just breathing air right? Not to Eleanor. (My friend Char runs a close second in this kindness department). Dang I got enough pent up anger issues to make up for the both of them. And then some.

During our early years of marriage we rarely socialized with Hubs’ brothers, spouses and kids besides family events but it did happen once in a while. They were older, more established (they had discretionary money-we most definitely did not) Both Jimmy & Les were avid fishermen and frequented the countless lakes of Minnesota during the summer. Lake Ottertail and Battle Lake were favorite spots and we got invited a time or 2, once with Jim and Mag who shared our cabin. (Memorable vacation for me because while the rest of the family fished one day, toddler Shannon and I were preparing our next meal. I struck a match to light the oven and there must have been the tiniest of gas leaks. The force of the explosion pitched us all the way across the cabin. We were unharmed but pretty shook up and deaf for awhile). That could have turned out much more serious, we were lucky.

I guess Jimmy noticed me first. John (the whole town knew as Johnny Wayne back then) had worked for various farmers for a couple summers and saved enough money to buy a brand new 90 CC Bridgestone motorcycle. Yeah, he was bad to the bone alright. Since we were in the early stages of dating, we spent most of our time tooling around Rock Valley, me planted behind him. Jimmy asked his mom, “who’s that girl on the back of Johnny’s motorcycle?”

He was 14 years older than John so they didn’t spend a lot of their free time together when Jimmy was still home. He graduated from high school about 1952 and enlisted in the Marines soon after, making Hubs about 5. Jimmy called his mom once and said he was going to Mexico on leave. “Say, ask Johnny Wayne what he wants me to buy him when I’m in Mexico?” Mag relayed the question and was instructed by the kindergartener to please buy him a burro (ha-ha). Instead, Jimmy mailed his youngest brother a leather jacket with long fringe on the sleeves and a sequined sombrero which the Hubs wore until there was nothing left of either.

Jimmy had a black 650 CC Triumph motorcycle which he dearly loved, but it didn’t have an electric starter. You had to use the kick starter. One day Johnny went into the house, walked up to Mag and asked, “Mom did you know that Jimmy named his motorcycle?” “He did? What does he call his motorcycle?” “Well every time he’s trying to go for a ride, he puts his foot on that thing and pushes down as hard and as fast as he can. And it never starts the first time. Jimmy says, bitch! He doesn’t think I can hear him, so he pushes down even harder the next time. Then he drives away really fast. His motorcycle’s name is bitch.”

My first close encounter with Jimmy after Hubs and I eloped was a few months later. I was hospitalized for an infection of unknown origin for a few days. Jimmy drove to Sioux City (about 60 miles) to visit me. He must have stopped downtown at Younkers first. Talk about an ice breaker. He waltzes into my room and hands me a 2 pound box of my favorite candy, milk chocolate Annaclairs. How did he even know? I was tongue tied and a bit embarrassed. Nineteen year old newlywed wearing an ugly hospital gown and still intimidated by Hubs’ older brother. I’ve never forgotten that sweet gesture for his punk teenage sister-in-law.

Jimmy and Eleanor had 5 children over the course of their 30 year marriage. Their kids were similarly spaced over 2 decades just like Jim and Mag’s family. We love S P A C I N G. Unfortunately Eleanor got cancer and passed away on New Year’s Day, 1991. Four of the kids were adults and on their own but their youngest son had just started elementary school.

The time during Jim’s tenure (mid-80’s & 90’s) as Rock Valley’s police chief ended up affecting me a lot and I was living 750 miles away. Mom had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, a couple rounds of chemo treatments which caused a stroke from which she would never fully recover. Both Mom and Dad were too proud/ashamed/embarrassed to seek help (just a few hours of help a week) for several years. The results were pretty much a disaster. Dad was NOT a caregiver for her physical needs. Yup he was a stand up guy if your soul needed saving but baths, laundry, cooking, cleaning were not on his radar. At all. He and Mom were about the same size, 6 footers with lean builds. (what happened with short, chunky me? Who exactly are my real parents)? When Dad was helping Mom get from one place to another, invariably they’d both end up on the floor, more times than I care to remember. Well RV’s fire and police departments would get the call that the Gerritson’s needed help again. I can’t tell you how many times Jim came to their aid, oftentimes right from his house because he lived a block away.

One time I had flown to help Mom and Dad out for a week, mostly cooking in bulk and freezing meals. But without a car I was stranded. Jimmy offered to drive me to Orange City so I could buy a piece of Blue Delft for my collection. (A tradition when I was in northwest Iowa). I can’t remember the name of the store, wasn’t on Main Street and looked like a dark brown barn. Probably something clever like Wooden Shoe Factory. It was winter and frigid so Jimmy came in the store with me, looking like a bull in a china shop. Eyes bulging at the hundreds of choices which I had to narrow down to one. Shaking his head and muttering, “can you believe the price of this crap? You really gonna pay that?” (In my defense I only bought one or 2 pieces a YEAR). I picked a plate to hang on the wall and yes it was a hundred bucks. He shook his head over that for years!

In January of 2018, the Hubs and I flew to Arizona for a couple weeks. Our time was limited because our grandson Landon, the basketball phenom was in the middle of his junior season and I couldn’t bear to miss many games. Les and Mary Jane had been wintering in Yuma for several years and Jim and Dee (his wonderful lady friend of 20 years) were driving out for a 2 month stay. This trip was the first time in decades Mag’s 3 boys were vacationing together again. (Brother Arly had passed away in 2012 at age 67). This vacation was a game changer in many respects. The small car we had reserved wasn’t available after we landed so they upgraded us to a minivan with all the bells and whistles. The six of us fit comfortably. We went to the desert, casinos, church breakfasts, flea market. Had margaritas, wine, dips and chips on Les’ fabulous deck every afternoon. Met somewhere almost every night to eat supper together.

But it was after we got back when I really noticed the change between Jim and John. The phone calls grew more frequent and lengthy, always ending with an, “I love you little brother.” “I love you too Jim.” Reminisced about the baby coyotes, raccoon and fox Jim brought back to his little brother to raise during the 50’s after a hunting trip. Things were just different between them and their chatter was nice to hear during their calls.

Jim hadn’t been feeling well and finally went to the doctor in mid April, 2020. He called John the next day (Saturday) with devastating news. He had been diagnosed with acute leukemia and the doctor had given him days to live. Because of the pandemic they encouraged him to go home because he couldn’t have visitors while in the hospital. He passed away 3 days later. We decided not to travel home because of the federal restrictions at funerals. But when you don’t attend, you really don’t have closure either. What really helped was because Jim was a retired law enforcement there was a city processional led by local patrol cars, county sheriff’s department and the Iowa State Highway Patrol, plus a 7 rifle volley from the veterans. All of this was recorded by the city of Rock Valley and posted on Facebook, which brought tears to our eyes. What a tribute. End of watch Jim. Rest easy. Hone your shuffling techniques and card skills because we got some serious games of pinochle to settle. He was a card shark (with a bit of a temper when he played) which made my seldom wins even sweeter…