Feels like we’ve been here 2 weeks (Hubs doesn’t feel the time has sped by as fast) but the calendar assures me we are working on our last couple of 58 nights and ought to start packing. There were a lot of misconceptions on my part. I thought I’d get homesick right away-I didn’t. Mostly due to the weather we weren’t experiencing. All I had to do was check the highs and lows for Jackson, see all the new snow that fell or how hard the winds were howling to determine their awful windchill. Didn’t miss that for one second.

It’s not that the weather here in the south has been spectacular. Thus far about a third of the days have been subpar. Shitty even-until I check Jackson’s forecast, which certainly made 51 degrees with occasional showers more appealing in Gulf Shores. Our neighbor in the condo next to us moved here 4 years ago from Illinois (she knows ugly winter weather) and said this has been the coldest winter since she got here which makes me feel better.

Hubs on the other hand, has not been as infatuated with Alabama as I have. This smallish town reminds me somewhat of North Muskegon. Both towns have one long, slow, busy street with water on two sides so everyone uses this main drag to make their way to someplace else. But in North Muskegon we were a couple blocks off the beaten trail. Our condo overlooks that busy street which is filled with construction trucks (hurricane repair and constant building of high rises) plus tourists. Watching the Gulf of Mexico just past this constant hum of tires is not as relaxing as it ought to be.

Another issue with our front view is half of our sliding doors leading to the balcony. It’s a double pane thing and the stationary half is a mess. I think the glass has lost it’s gas seal, causing streaks, fog and just plain dirty. These stains are on the inside so no amount of Windex/vinegar, water and paper towels are going to fix that view until the glass is replaced. We love the palm trees across the road and have been anxiously awaiting the removal of all the ugly, dead, brown fronds. Day before we leave, they showed up to trim. Much better, but the timing-not so great.

The pavement (street) out front is very wide but only 2 lanes with added walking and bike lanes, but there’s still a lot of wasted blacktop. Many folks just stop along this road’s ‘dead zone’ to yak, text, get directions or catch speeders. One such truck stopped right below our balcony a couple days ago while I was getting a dose of vitamin D. (Our railing is high and slats are close together so I’m rarely noticed sitting in my swimsuit. More on that later). Dude is leaning over in the driver’s spot, trying to do something on the floor when he finally opens his door. Out comes one leg. Nothing more, just the one leg resting on the running board. He turns sideways, loosens his laces and gently slides off his shoe. With the tender nurturing of a mom giving a newborn a bath he slowly removes his sock. Holy bat-toes, that foot’s a mess. His big and second toes are red/purple and very swollen from my view of 15 feet heavenward. He rests it there while making a call, then carefully brings his foot back into the truck and drives away. Leaving his shoe on the pavement. (Couldn’t get it back on anyway). He did return for the shoe later.

The reason I’m privy to such scenes is the damn pool has been closed since we arrived, (57 days and counting) thus putting me on our tiny balcony instead of a comfortable lounge chair pool side. (This should have been disclosed in the amenities section before we rented the place). First I heard the pool and hot tub were closed because of Covid-19 (I don’t want to swim, just sit for an hour and read), but then noticed the fence around the pool was damaged by hurricane Sally. New sections arrived a month ago but they just started replacing it this week.

So far I sound kinda whiny but there has been much enjoyment too. First the sand. It’s unlike sand I’ve ever seen before, so fine and white. I love it, it’s everywhere-literally! The big pier, about 3 miles away is awesome, even though half of it is still closed after being torn from the pilings during Sally. What a beautiful view of the Gulf of Mexico from far above the water. The absence of fast food joints on this long stretch of road through town is a welcome site. The two exceptions are Hooters and Waffle House. I think perhaps the Waffle House was grandfathered in (they’re EVERYWHERE) but have no clue how Hooters got their location. All of the usual fast food spots are on Highway 59 north, not very close to the water, although there are lots of restaurants and souvenir shops (which border on outlandish in colors and large sea creatures).

The first week here, we stumbled (no, completely sober) onto this Mexican Restaurant about 5 miles away called Margarita Loca. On Wednesday’s they have their namesake at a very reasonable price, a buck for a sippy cup size and 3 dollars for the arm weight lifting size. I can count on one hand with three fingers hidden how many drinks I usually have in a year’s time, until Gulf Shores. We’ve been to Margarita Loca’s 5 times, always on Wednesday. I might see a pattern here. On the downside, we tried their food the first 2 times and were not very impressed. The following 3 times we just order an appetizer, stay for an hour and head home.

So this midweek was our last visit. Same waitress, Hannah every single week (she must never have Wednesday’s off). She seats us, hands us menus and asks, “what do you want to drink?” We say, 2 frozen margaritas. She starts walking away, stops, turns towards me and says, “you don’t want salt on your glass do you?” Hahaha, gotta love her. Guess who got an enormous tip?

The independent neighborhood restaurants are good, (though we’ve tried pizza twice and none even come close to Klavon’s). Most are small, not very fancy but do what they do best-seafood. It’s been a week since I had shrimp and I’m not hungry for it yet. Too much shrimp, too often.

What would it take to cut the cord? Try a 2 month’s stay with limited, bad cable. I think we’ve finally reached a unanimous decision to say goodbye to DirectV. We’ve been a customer since 2002 except for a short hiatus where the Hubs grew weary of bitchin about the rising cost and signed a 2 year contract with Dish. When that was over we went back to DirectV but have watched our monthly bill working it’s way towards $150. Really, 5 dollars a day to watch TV? It’s got to stop and I think we’re ready and on the same page. (Josh, my techie guru has the answer that’s gonna run us about 60 bucks a month). Not really a Gulf Shores issue but it was here where we noticed we really aren’t watching much TV and haven’t missed it. Thanks to lousy condo cable.

What else is there? Well since our massive downsizing 5 years ago, I’ve been a tad critical of my little kitchen in our little house. All it took to appreciate that tiny kitchen was a minuscule kitchen in a minuscule condo. And in case I ever need another new stove, rest assured it will never be a flat surface stove. Sucker took 21 minutes to preheat for 2 leftover pizza slices. By the time he was done eating pizza, it was time for me to start supper!

Haven’t seen as much wildlife or birds as I had hoped. A beautiful pelican stopped by when we were at the big pier. I spotted an armadillo on the shoulder of the road but since he was dead, I couldn’t count him. But every time I get on the walking path, there’s this one spot where the lagoon is just a few feet away. That’s where I should see something fantastic, right? And I finally did. I think he’s a stunning Great Blue Heron. Made my week!

Would I come back? Survey says? Absolutely, though maybe somewhere farther off the beaten path. We spent a day in Pensacola (an hour east) and found much to like. Their downtown was bustling, filled with quaint shops. As far as Gulf Shores, the weather, the Gulf of Mexico, sand, CHERRY NUT ICE CREAM, and restaurants were spectacular. The pelican and heron were an added bonus. Any egrets? Not a one…

Anyone remember upper elementary classes where your teacher ‘strongly encouraged’ you to carry-on a back and forth written friendship (using neat, legible, cursive penmanship and proper grammar) with a complete stranger you knew absolutely nothing about? (Kinda sounds like stalking and a PPO should have been recommended, right) Goodness those educators were hellbent to introduce us to new relationships weren’t they?

I don’t remember all the particulars but somehow our teacher had a long waiting list of eager preteens, living far away who were in desperate need of a sympathetic/empathetic/confidential friend they where they could relay their deepest fears, aspirations, hobbies and goals, without repercussions. Which meant as 5th graders, the paragraph read, (I got to go to the bowling alley for supper with my friends and without our PARENTS)!

I recall writing several letters but remember not one solitary thing about the person I’d been forced to bond with to keep all of my hopes and dreams in deepest confidence. I might have gone through this process a couple times before high school, conversing with a complete stranger in letter form, filling their heads with all the vital statistics of a day in the life of Neese. We called this strange phenomenon Pen Pals.

Fast forward 50 years and a more informal means of getting acquainted or reacquainted with some unknown folks or long forgotten friends was being introduced to a more mature Neese (ha) via Facebook.

I joined Facebook in 2012, clueless and light years behind millions of savvy, hip folks of the world. I had less than 50 on my friend’s list and was content with social media. But big changes were for in store for one of the most computer illiterate gals on earth. It all started with a rather insignificant site called, “If you grew up in Rock Valley.” Holy frigid Iowa winters! I somehow met the site’s stringent, formidable by-laws. (I was born and raised in Rock Valley, Iowa). A fellow classmate of the Hubs (Ray) made it official. He ‘approved’ my initial request to join the group who were following the Rock Valley site. (That hurried approval from Ray might have been regrettable for some). I was like member number 30. Although we were a tight knit group, because of our age differences which ranged from the 50’s through the 70’s, many of us did not know each other-personally. Something else that was gonna change for some. Every day posts about growing up in our small Midwest, mostly Dutch community would appear. While most posts were a couple sentences long (mine were the exception, and tended to be quite wordy) for this small group of adults, some still in Rock Valley, others living all over the United States, the comments from these threads often lasted days.

As our numbers grew, we became better acquainted with each other (similar to attending a 6 month, welcome to the neighborhood potluck, but without the good casseroles). I tried to hold my sarcasm in check (epic fail) in the comment department and to my surprise received several friend requests. Didn’t matter what the subject matter was from our past in the post, several folks were ready to offer their version (in the comments) to what ‘really happened’ that day at school, Benson’s Hill, the swimming pool, Doc Hegg or Doc Schroeder’s office, the drive-inn, dump, roller rink, gym, bowling alley, Koster’s market, little known ‘parking spots’ around town or the kid who had the guts to swipe the cop’s car and take it for a joyride! Still one of my personal favorites (Lyle), although Erwin Kooistra’s rendition of an office visit/chat with Mr. Liaboe ranks up there too.

Friendships were revived or renewed. New cliques were formed and popularity no longer mattered. Just because someone was 5-10 years younger/older and not in your social circle during their youth held no merit once you hit 50. Age difference just didn’t matter anymore. What a relief and why didn’t we always do this?

Had I not joined I grew up in Rock Valley, I would be missing out on the lives of about 100 friends. That lonely life would suck right? Well this is about one of those friendships, now nearly a decade old. All of the ‘kids’ from this Rock Valley family were older than me. One was in the Hubs’ class, and one had been in my brother Larry’s class, which is how we got acquainted. Allan’s (2-l’s) brother Norm was a good friend of Larry’s and a pallbearer at his funeral. Not the happiest topic but I brought Larry up often in posts I wrote. Rock Valley was small enough that if you were in school in the fall of 1958, Larry’s tragic death had an impact on you. The whole town felt his death.

Finding old/new friends because of this nostalgic Rock Valley site, reliving everyone’s version of their childhood has been a bonus and a blessing. (Thanks to our administrator Betty Hauser who thought to start this site). Long forgotten memories re-surfaced and brought laughter and tears some times. What was vitally important to certain kids during a simpler time (50’s & 60’s) were now shared for a second time in riveting detail. Dutch slang language, used differently in every household was explained and written out phonetically because no one knew the correct spelling or pronunciation! Hut-fa-duttie. (Dutch meaning, oh for Pete’s sake).

So back to the Cruisers, not their last name, just their favorite pastime. They (Allan, 2-l’s and Dianne, 2-n’s) have taken cruises (too numerous to count) over the years. Dianne (2-n’s) was not part of our Rock Valley, Iowa history, having grown up in the south, using y’all when talking about more than one person. They are happily ensconced in Florida and offered us some advice when deciding where we would go with our newly sprouted snowbirding wings this winter. “Y’all might not be happy in Alabama. It gets cold there. Y’all need to come further south,” drawled Dianne (2-n’s). But Neese (2-ee’s) doesn’t do any better with high heat and humidity than she does with snow and below freezing temps, so the gulf coast of Alabama was our destination for 2 months.

With a couple of ‘rub it ins’ since new year’s when their temps were hovering near 90 and ours (7 hours northwest) were struggling to hit 50 became a friendly sparring contest about watching/teasing each other about the local weather. Because of the pandemic, the Cruisers total boarding of luxurious ships in 2020 hit a standstill. They were bummed, with no noteworthy trips to look forward to. Allan, (2-l’s) and Dianne (2-n’s) decided to rough it, bring out their long forgotten winter gear, (jeans and a light jacket), heh-tah, (Dutch meaning, oh good grief) and ‘rough it’ to the frigid shores of Alabama for a weekend to meet their long-distance penless pals.

Gifts were exchanged (a box of my home canned goods) for one of their delicious, freshly home-baked Pecan (pee-can, Dianne (2-n’s). “Uh no, it’s (pa-con) pie,” corrected Neese (2-ee’s). After hashing over the Dutch/Midwest language version versus Southern speak and getting past the barriers of understanding (y’all), we went out for a leisurely lunch, then back to our tiny dwelling to recount the last half century of our lives. It was a wonderful day to finally meet in face to face. Hope the good Lord let’s us get together again…

It started during the last half of 2000. As a kid, I didn’t think I’d be alive in the year 2000. After all I’d be turning 50 that December. Hahaha. Too old to be taking up space on earth. As I inched closer to that date, I realized my life wasn’t close to being over. It was just another milestone (they happen to all of us). I didn’t feel old. A couple years prior I had finally taken a more serious approach to the state of my health. (Women in their 40’s are prime targets for weight gains without changing their eating habits, body shifting/everything spiraling downward, sagging, except our pants and frequent, erratic reminders of everyone’s favorite-the arrival of menopause). I lost a bunch of weight and started walking ‘with purpose’ everyday. I felt great! But there were disturbing events creeping me out as I neared my 50th birthday.

A mere forty-eight hours after accepting/embracing the fact that I was starting my 51st year on God’s great earth, I came to grips with the grim reality. Shannon (my firstborn) was turning 30. That’s. Impossible. How could this be? I had literally just given birth to her, blinked once, then watched her as a 16 year old, winning a trophy in competitive cheer, gyrating to ‘Wipeout’ by the Fat-boys. It simply was not feasible that in the next minute, she was a 30 year old adult. Adding credence to this fact in the best way possible, Shannon was already mom to our firstborn grandchild, Ariana, who was almost 10 (making me a grandma at 40) and Landon, (not yet Drew to the rest of the world) 3 months old.

As far as milestones go, I think I accept/acknowledge the challenges before me with a loosey-goosey attitude. (Grateful to wake up each morning). But I’m not as lackadaisical about events that surround my milestones. One step in my aging process where I was completely out of whack for decades was my hair. Oh vanity, thy name is Neese. That short phase started when I was 35 and much too young to have more grey hair than brown already. I thought I’d get a ‘sign’ when the right time was right to let my hair grow out naturally. But as my mini-milestones zipped by at warp speed, for some unknown reason, I was not ready to stop the vicious cycle of my monthly scalp’s consumption of L’Oréal #7. I thought my compulsion for continuous dye jobs might wane after 5 years but it actually took me 33 years before looking in the mirror one morning and saying, “ok, I’m done. I’m ready to see how God intended me to look at age 68.” (Ok, He’d be more pleased with me dropping 20). I hear ‘ya God but it’s hard.

So while I’ve been ok with the constant status changes in my own life, I’m somewhat reluctant to accept I’m old enough for all the other ‘things’ that go along with aging. Wasn’t it last week when Hubs and I drove to the hospital in Dyersville, Iowa to welcome our son Joshua into the world? Didn’t we just experience a harrowing 6 weeks during my last pregnancy, praying everyday that our baby (of undetermined sex) would be born ok? (Adam was breech, face up and looking up my throat instead of having his head tucked down. He was perfect). What happened to that cute young couple on the block with 3 little kids, struggling to make ends meet? That was us one minute ago, yet here we are-great grandparents. The heart of the matter is, I’m ok with getting older, but I’m far less comfortable having my kids roar into their 30’s and 40’s, sprouting grey hair, with their kids hitting junior high, high school and college. Last I noticed, I was in my 40’s. Honest, I was just in my 40’s.

On the other end of the spectrum after becoming an adult were the uncomfortable years of watching my parents age, seeing them decline. I compare it to witnessing (at times, it was not constant) something painful and unpleasant while never fully accepting what’s right in front of your nose. Sort of like wearing a set of blinders. I didn’t want mom and dad to have serious health issues, strokes, cancer and watch as they became frail (and I admit, at times I selfishly resented what was happening to them). Just stay the same and be ok. Please. But time marches on and nothing we can do to stop it. Acceptance can be hard.

After coming to terms with my parent’s end of life experience, I suspect my kids are glancing sideways at their significant other when they look at me sometimes and think, dang she’s kinda stooped over lately, (how come it’s suddenly so hard to stand up nice and straight)? She’s started limping again and packing on a few pounds around her middle (for the umteenth time). And she looks a lot older with white and silver hair.

It’s still hard for me to reconcile the fact my ‘kids’ are no longer little and don’t need their mom. Although none of us are gonna get through this alive, I had no idea my first seventy years would pass me by in the blink of an eye…

Baby love me, yes, yes she does, well the girl’s outta sight, yeah.

Says she loves me, yes, yes she does, gonna show me tonight, yeah.

Hey, she got the way to move me Cherry, she got the way to groove me,

Cherry baby. She got the way to move me, she got the way to groove me-alright.

(My main man, Neil Diamond)

I’ve loved maraschino cherries since I was a little girl (and Neil Diamond since I was a teen). Mom bought cherries in small jars, swimming in sweet red syrup and let me top my (golden yellow) Hull Vanilla ice cream, covered with chopped walnuts and a substantial helping from the Hershey’s syrup can (the can was about the size of a Del Monte vegetable can). We used a V-shaped pop bottle opener, piercing two different sized triangular holes. A larger one to pour from and a smaller one to let air into the can so it would pour evenly). This delicious bowl was topped with a couple of cherries. Mom also found a gooey bar recipe from our ‘Family Favorites’ Cookbook which called for cut up cherries, nutmeats and coconut, all my favorites, (which the jar of cherries was originally intended), but once that jar was opened for ice cream, or me sneaking a few after school before she got home from work, if she wanted to make bars, she had to buy another jar of cherries (my evil plan all along).

There were several ‘snack’ foods mom kept in the house for me. Hershey Bars (which she kept in the OVEN! I can’t tell you how many times she had to clean out a melted chocolate mess, including wrappers while the oven was preheating), regular and with almonds at a nickel a piece, Oreo Cookies, Hostess Cupcakes, Snowballs, Twinkies, Brach’s chocolate stars, Malt balls, Circus Peanuts and an occasional salty snack. All these were acceptable after school/supper treats (we rarely had dessert) so she was perturbed when the cherries kept disappearing from the jar. My cherry fixation might have bordered on obsessive/excessive.

Although the gooey cherry bars mom made were delicious (I still make them a couple times a year), my favorite way to indulge in maraschino cherries was with Wells Blue Bunny Cherry Nut ice cream. A pink concoction chucked full of diced maraschino cherries and chunks of walnuts mixed in an ocean of vanilla ice cream. Wells is located in Le Mars, Iowa, (now the ice cream capital of the world) which is about 35 miles from my hometown. Never gave it a passing thought growing up. It was just an ice cream factory, delivering half gallons (yes, all cartons of ice cream used to be 64 ounces) to surrounding towns in Iowa.

Over the years as we moved farther away, Blue Bunny ice cream was not always readily available. That didn’t pose much of a problem since the Hubs’ folks, sibs, my folks and sister all lived in the area where Blue Bunny ruled. We went home often, summers, spring break, sometimes Christmas or Thanksgiving, so I got my Cherry Nut fix a few times each year.

But things never stay the same. Those busy, fretful years of getting through motherhood raising teenagers also felt the loss of many family members. Since the late 80’s we lost both sets of parents, 3 of Hubs siblings and my only sister. We did not realize at the time but with every loss, there’s less of a reason to go back. That strong home base was just drifting away, one miserable death after another.

We didn’t travel to Iowa or anywhere else in 2020. Stayed close to home, saw almost no one and waited for the virus to run its course (we’re waiting, we’re waiting). The last time we went back was for my high school reunion, late summer of 2019, and I was in for a shock (besides how amazingly young and hip my whole class still looks). The newly remodeled Blue Bunny Ice Cream Parlor in Le Mars had some unsettling news for this Cherry Nut aficionado. My favorite flavor had been retired/discontinued. No consultation, no permission, and certainly no consideration for my feelings or healthy appetite. Cold. Damn cold.

Disappointing to say the least. Pandemic, social distancing, isolation, travel ban, masks. The hits just kept coming. The Hubs and I decided if we were going to be stuck somewhere, why not make it a better place during the winter than our cold, snowy, sad-sack state? Indeed. Which brought us to Alabama a month ago. I knew nothing about Alabama, but it was about the closest good weather to try our newly sprouted snowbirding wings. Yes, for the most part we still stay home, mask up in stores and restaurants, but the sun, the Gulf of Mexico, the warm temperatures has lifted our morose spirits. We have not been disappointed nor homesick. Yet.

The closest grocery store is Walmart. (I’ve never been a big fan). Gotta give them credit though for the ease in refilling our prescriptions 1,000 miles from home. Thought that would be a much bigger headache. But after the first 3 weeks, I was eager to shop elsewhere, and found several choices. Piggly Wiggly, Publix, Winn Dixie and a local store called Rouses. When I stayed in Destin a few years ago, I shopped at a Publix, but knew nothing of the others.

Our goal was finding a better loaf of bread. The bread choices are kinda sad around here. Puny loaves, skinny slices and very little choice on varieties. It’s not that we were hellbent on getting the best ‘bakery’ loaf of bread, just a good commercial brand of wheat bread for a sandwich that would hold more than a teaspoon of peanut butter/jelly without wilting from the weight.

Winn Dixie got our approval rating for having a brand of bread we had not seen before so kudos to them. Piggly Wiggly offered nothing new so we left without buying anything. But the Publix Store Chain won this girl over-big time. (I comparison shopped in every store and have found the cost of living here quite high compared to Michigan grocery prices. I love doing that and always check prices when we’re in Iowa too).

Found one loaf of Cranberry Walnut bread in their bakery. (I ate some years ago, even tried to duplicate it several times to no avail). This time I’ll be taking home the list of ingredients and see if I can find a similar recipe on the internet. But here’s the kicker. The biggest, best surprise of all. The Publix Store brand of their premium ice cream line carries-CHERRY NUT ICE CREAM. Thought I’d died and gone to heaven-and that was before I ate my first half gallon-I mean bowl.

It’s not exactly like Blue Bunny Cherry Nut. Publix uses almonds instead of walnuts but the Hubs and I decided we like that nut flavor mixed in with cherries. My outlook on life has been much improved with my recent discovery. There will be some changes made and concessions in my life moving forward. I absolutely have to give up a meal everyday or fast one day a week. You know, Cherry Nut plus Krispy Kreme is not painting a very pretty picture of Neese (literally) for the future unless I intend on buying a new wardrobe in a bigger size. Ah, nope.

I may have to move. Not specifically to Gulf Shores silly. There are 1,239 Publix Stores all over southeastern U.S., so there’s some flexibility with this life altering decision. We could sell the house, roam our way through Georgia, Alabama, North and South Carolina, Florida and Tennessee, just hopping from one Publix store to the next. Or we could reserve a 4-month ‘winter stay’ in one of their parking lots and just rough it next to a dumpster…