I don’t remember much about the house I was born in. We lived there until I was 4-1/2. The house was small for our family of five, (I was the 5th element) but the yard was substantial. Dad built an amazing play house, complete with a door, windows and chimney! (had it been added on to the house, my parents might have opted to stay there longer).

Our new house (one of the oldest in town) needed major renovations which dad started on immediately with the kitchen and bath. Both rooms were small and void of most modern conveniences. Dad installed a double sink, homemade painted cupboards on the short west wall, a gas stove and a fridge. Now mom had the means to cook supper, which she did every night but Saturday. The bathroom sported a new toilet, small vanity/sink, a bathtub and no window. On the downside, the bathroom was off the kitchen (a no-no). Our narrow kitchen had three doorways, one to the bathroom, outside plus our dining room, which was huge and beautiful but rarely used. The oak floor was stunning and mom’s new mission in life was to keep it blindingly shiny and as slippery as possible.

Mom had my hair cut short before I started kindergarten which made life easier for both of us. Without long hair (it was like a horsetail) I was able to take my own bath. I loved taking baths! First thing I’d start running the water, but not too hot until after I got in and was used to it. Next I’d run to the kitchen cupboard under the sink and grab the bottle of dishwashing detergent called Joy. It smelled great and made oodles of bubbles, but I didn’t squirt it in yet. I got in the tub first, wet my hair and poured a glop of Prell shampoo (it smelled good too) in my hands to wash my hair before the water got icky. After my hair was squeaky clean, I’d add a good squirt of Joy, turn off the cold faucet, scoot to the back of the tub and let the water get as hot as I could stand it.

I did this daily ritual until I left home. By then dad had remodeled the bathroom a second time, doubling its size heading north, adding a window and a very l o n g countertop, small sink and an unlit mirror, which made putting on makeup next to impossible when I was a teen. I begged him to add a shower but neither he nor mom were excited about this prospect. Mom got her hair ‘done’ at the beauty shop every week. How was she supposed to stand with a shower pouring over her head and not ruin her hairdo? Come to think of it, the ceiling was quite low when dad added on. At 5’12” (mom never liked saying she was 6 feet tall, although she never slouched and stood ramrod straight) she might have been a head taller than the shower head). Dad thought a shower was extravagant and a foolish idea. (I was seriously losing my power of persuasion with those 2. They were immune to my willful and needful ways).

So my opportunities to shower were few and far between. I think my bestie Char had a shower after they moved from 15th Street to 16th. When I stayed overnight I’d just go home the next morning and take a bath, but I remember six or eight of us teenage girls arriving at Char’s one day and before we left, we each needed a shower. All of us brought a bottle of hair dye so we could change our hair color. I don’t remember if everyone’s mom was ticked about this latest daredevil stunt, but mine was livid. We were such rebels!

Hubs was a participant in 2 sweaty sports in school, football and wrestling, so he ended up showering in school after practice and games. The school supplied a locking basket which held clean undies and socks but the RVHS didn’t supply towels. Johnny’s towel was tossed back in the basket daily and never got a chance to dry completely. The few times the towel dried thoroughly during holidays or the weekend, it was so stiff it could walk beside him on the way to get cleaned up again.

Hubs’ parents built a new house in 1958 but their one bathroom also lacked a shower. (Slow to change parents like mine). I wonder when adding a shower to the bathroom in building new homes became the norm?

We’ve been married 5 plus decades. I just added up the number of houses we’ve lived in over the years. Dang we moved a lot at first. Some places were just a few months but a couple were more than 2 years. Basically we moved about every year. The last 40 years we’ve lived in 4 homes, one of them for 21 years. The first dozen years and equal number of homes only had 3 showers. All were rentals but one. The last 4 homes had showers but John added them to 2 of our bathrooms.

We lived the longest in North Muskegon and had great bathrooms. One half bath downstairs, 2 full upstairs, one with a tub and shower and the master had a jacuzzi and a walk in shower. The tub was nice but huge and took 20 minutes to fill and used every drop from the hot water heater. It was just too time consuming. I don’t think I could get out of that tub anymore.

We debated our bathroom remodel for six months after we moved here 6 years ago. We wanted a nice walk-in shower and neither of us were excited about a bathtub, so we didn’t put one in. Probably gonna hurt our resale but at this point we don’t much care. I’ve had my fill of tubs…

I’m a fence jockey where ‘progress’ is concerned. I support the miraculous advancements in the world of medicine which has ensured me of a better life. Had I been born a couple hundred years ago, it’s doubtful I would have lived to celebrate my 29th birthday. My last pregnancy (at the ripe old age of 28) was complicated with a breech baby and for a couple hours around lunchtime on September 12, 1979, things got pretty dicey in the delivery room. I didn’t think either of us would see September 13th, and that was with the help of 2 doctors, several nurses, a ghastly pale husband who thought he might be raising our 8 and 4 year old by himself from that day forward. (Should have had a C-section but my doc didn’t think it was necessary. A miscue on his part, which could have turned out much worse). But it all turned out just fine with a healthy baby boy.

If I take that a step further back, Hubs probably would have died before he ever had a chance to have sex (horse fell on his foot/leg resulting in multiple breaks and gangrene at age 15. He’s gonna huff & puff, insisting he had sex by 15-hahaha). If that nasty accident didn’t do him in, a ruptured appendix after we’d been married three years probably would have. I’d been left a widow raising our toddler Shannon by myself. Guess there wouldn’t have been a Joshua or Adam from that union. But God had other plans for this young married couple with 3 kids to raise.

I’m the first one to cheer for modern medicine like root canals, nitrous oxide, novocaine, pain medication, capped teeth, braces, a tonsillectomy, tubal ligations, vaccines, appendix/gall bladder surgery which allows you to go home the same or next day with the smallest of incisions, joint replacements, organ transplants, stents, bypass, chemotherapy. These advancements have saved millions of lives.

Although it seems like I was born during the Stone Age I assure you I was not. Where I get goofed up is when I look back at my childhood. My family suffered a tragic loss in 1958 when my 12 year old brother was killed while he was riding his bike to our grandparent’s house. I was 7, making parts of being a kid painful, but there’s actually not much I’d change about growing up in my little home town.

My best friend through school was a sweetie named Char who lived a few blocks away. She was one-of-four girls in her family, all quite close in age. I would say 90% of the households in Rock Valley had a landline phone, but only one. (Our house didn’t fit that large percentage though because we had 2). My dad worked for the Iowa State Highway Commission and was frequently called into work during the middle of the night usually for a miserable blizzard. We all slept upstairs and our staircase was steep, narrow and harrowing to maneuver when you were wide awake, let alone half asleep. In the interest of mom and dad’s unbroken limbs and good health, they added a rotary dial phone which sat on a small table in between their twin beds. Once I hit the phone yakking age, this was an awesome advantage because our main phone was in the kitchen. My conversations were uninterrupted as I laid on mom or dad’s bed. When they thought I was up to no good, they’d quietly lift the receiver downstairs to listen to my conversations.

Though most families had a phone, there were no answering machines or call waiting. With Char’s family of 4 popular girl’s, many days when I called, I’d get a busy signal. The phone’s busy signal was just part of our life. When I got frustrated, unable to get through, the easiest thing to do was hop on my bike and ride to her house and speak person to person.

By the time we were in junior high there were lots of extracurricular activities which kept us busy and entertained, band, cheerleading and attending every sports function our public school offered. As great as all the games were, the most fun we had was on the Pep Bus. You signed up at school, paid (50 cents or maybe it was only a quarter) and at the designated time, piled on a bus with 40 other kids from 7th grade through high school.

I don’t think schools have used/promoted pep busses for a long time which makes me sad. That kind of camaraderie is hard to duplicate, especially since most have a cellphone. Listen, I’m not against cellphones. I’m profoundly deaf and texting is the main way I communicate. I just feel teens and 20-something’s are losing a lot of personal friendships if they use their phones for most social interactions.

Whenever I think about this I’m reminded of something I witnessed a decade ago. I was on a 4-lane divided Highway, in the left lane, passing a school bus. It was late afternoon. As I pulled alongside the bus I noticed every single teen’s head was resting on his or her chest. No, they weren’t sleeping, but texting/listening to music/playing games. No one I saw was smiling, but deep into their own little world, probably texting the kid 3 rows ahead. This image still bothers me when I think about pep bus rides with my peers. How we teased, laughed, gossiped, sang, told silly jokes on a simple bus trip to a town 30 miles away. I hope kids still experience the goofy joy of a pep bus/field trip ride and the special friendships formed that were ignited on the bus full of exuberant teens…

Full disclosure for those new to my blog, I didn’t know how to cook when Hubs and I eloped in 1969. We’d dated long enough, but John wasn’t interested in my cooking prowess-yet. Until we had to start eating at home for real. After a leisurely honeymoon of 2 days, a 100 miles away, he discovered the first night that supper with a non-cooking spouse meant a small can of red sockeye salmon, flaked to perfection (devoid of slimy skin & spiny bones), a loaf of Hillbilly bread, iceberg lettuce and a stick of real butter at room temperature. I should’ve aced it just for using butter, right?

Over the next 3 years we grazed our way through Hamburger Helper, tuna casserole, chicken on the grill, more tuna casserole and 39 cents a pound hamburger. The hamburger patties contained so much fat they fell through the grill and started the house siding on fire. Hubs lost the hair on his arms, eyelashes and eyebrows. Good times. Eventually I did learn to whip up a decent meal.

It was the fall of 1974 and we had just moved across the state. We’re both from the northwest Iowa and moved about 350 miles east, fairly close to the mighty Mississippi River. We had just celebrated anniversary # 5, Shannon was 3-1/2 and we just learned I was pregnant (spacing our children was a top priority). This would be our first Thanksgiving not celebrating with the rest of our family. We were going home for Christmas but decided it was too expensive to drive that far two months in a row. Money was in short supply, transportation was dicey, while the bills just kept stacking up.

I would be roasting our first ‘turkey’ (the slang definition for this word pretty much describes how the meal turned out). Mistake number one was the size of the bird. Enormous. Hubs thought he was doing me a favor buying a big one. No Butterball site to peruse for guidance. No Google to help me out. Mom explained (in a hurry, who could afford those long distance rates unless you talked very late at night) how to make stuffing but I didn’t research how LONG A BIRD THAT SIZE NEEDED TO BE IN THE OVEN. So when the turkey was a beautiful golden brown, the potatoes were mashed, corn was cooked, gravy was lumpy, brown & serve rolls were on the table right next to my fresh cranberry sauce, we discovered the bird was a couple hours away from being fit for human consumption, along with my second favorite accompaniment-the stuffing.

From that day forward however, a turkey dinner with all the fixings has remained my favorite meal, once I learned to roast it right. I’ve tried countless brands of turkey from every grocery chain, but over the years I’ve come to prefer Butterball. With exorbitant inflation and shortages on the grocery shelves I thought I might be roasting a chicken this year, but the Hubs came through and found a Butterball for 98 cents a pound.

I’ve been out of the house twice in the last 13 days because of my out-of-whack-back. We made an appointment (a week in advance) to go to the Secretary of State for new plates, pay sales tax for Hubs’ 1962 Studebaker Champ, tags for my Jeep and renewals on both our driver’s license (my picture shows me without glasses and brown hair-I stopped dyeing my hair 3 years ago) so we were hesitant to reschedule. Although it took almost an hour to get everything accomplished, I stood because I can’t sit in a straight chair, but the appointment went without a hitch (except in my get-a-long).

I had not been grocery shopping in 2 weeks! (How Meijer remains open for business without my business is a mystery). It felt good to wear shoes (can’t bend over, Hubs had to tie them) and put my phone in my hip-clip to record my steps. Since I’ve barely moved my phone’s been sitting idle, waiting for me to heal. Usually I criss-cross the store several times to boost my step total but not on this shopping day. My list was long and I didn’t want to risk more of those electric shock back spasms.

Our granddaughter Ariana and great-granddaughter, Jovi come over for supper once a week. I plan our favorite suppers, mostly comfort food. I’ve got a hankerin for chicken pot pie. No puff pastry or single top crust allowed, it’s old school here, all homemade with a double crust. A couple times a year I buy several packages of split chicken breasts with skin and rib bones, (which adds flavor to the broth for gravy, stuffing or soups) and simmer 6 at a time. Let them cool, remove the skin and bones, dice, package, plus freeze the broth. (I’ve canned broth before. It’s a lot of work and you have to remove every iota of delicious chicken fat or you might pop a lid or break a jar while it’s in the pressure cooker). It’s much easier to freeze it but you lose on the longer shelf life you get with canning.

So split breasts were running $2.09 a pound, yikes, which means 15 pounds would cost about 30 bucks. I use 4 heaping cups of diced chicken for pot pie, (the recipe makes 3) the rest is frozen for cream chicken buns, soup, chicken salad or more pot pies. I think the last time I bought packs of split breasts they were about a buck a pound. Hmm, what else could I make this week?

A couple minutes later I experienced an food epiphany-smack dab in the middle of Meijer’s with a hundred bucks of groceries in my cart. I had zipped right passed the frozen turkeys (since Hubs already bought one) when it dawned on me. Meijer brand birds were 33 cents a pound. HOLD THE PHONE! My head was trying to accept a message but the rest of me was in denial. Would if? Absolutely not. No.

Since I learned to cook 50 years ago, I have never made an unstuffed turkey or one without all the trimmings. Is it even possible to cook a turkey and use it for another purpose? On purpose? Could this warrant a technical foul against my favorite fowl? Might even be a flagrant (or fragrant) foul. No, not something I can wrap my head around. Still. I turned around and headed back to the frozen birds. I gingerly picked up 2 turkeys (the limit), each 15 pounds, which cost me 10 bucks. (No one needs to know they would be cooked under extenuating circumstances, but I looked guilty as sin) Pretty sure I would net 4 quarts of diced meat from each bird. Buck and a quarter per package. Mighty economical. And who doesn’t love the flavor of turkey pot pie, cream buns or salad? Plus all that turkey broth!

Hubs brought the groceries inside with raised eyebrows (they grew back) as he was lugging 30 pounds of dead weight turkeys. I explained my devious plan to use the birds for various, nefarious deeds, other than stuffing them. “Great idea! I never like it when you use all white chicken meat for pot pie or cream chicken buns. Dark meat has more flavor.” He put one in the fridge to thaw and the other in the freezer. I cooked and diced one yesterday and will make the crusts, cook the veggie/gravy/filling on Monday. Pumpkin bars sound good for dessert.

My cooking world has been rocked, so I’m probably gonna need help working my through this. Any long time cooks know a support group based on using fowl for other than what God (and the pilgrims) intended?…

While perusing Facebook Monday morning, (November 1st) I noticed a post by my friend Sabrina. During the month of November she’s going to write what she’s grateful/thankful for every day of the month. Wow, that’s a great idea. I know what I should say the first day. I’m thankful my back hasn’t gone out in 20 months (I’m keeping track). That’s a new world record for me.

These chronic back issues began when we moved to Michigan almost 35 years ago. Didn’t happen often but when it did, it was debilitating. It’s always in the same spot. Lower left back, below my waistline, a patch the size of a 5 cent plain Hershey candy bar back in the 1950’s. I’d be laid up in bed for 3 or 4 days and then it would just get/be better. But I was in my mid-30’s and healed at warp speed.

One of the best deterrents for minimizing my back problem has been my faithfulness in trying to walk every morning since 1998. But I’m also 20 plus years older, 20 plus pounds heavier and realize I don’t ‘bounce back’ as fast as I used to. Since then, I’ve had this spot flare up about twice a year. I’m bending over to nab a ploujes, (slang word for a piece of lint in Dutch) dirty laundry, or pick up a pair of shoes when I suddenly feel something slip out of its normal habitat.

Just like that (snap) I can’t stand up straight. I grope for walls or furniture to get to the nearest place sit down that isn’t a straight chair. The spot immediately feels hot, swells and throbs. I don’t know if you call it a spasm but if I breathe wrong or make a move not in compliance with that candy bar sized rectangle which now rules my body, I’m in for one hellava shock. Literally.

When I barely in my teens I accidentally grabbed an electric fence while wearing wet gloves. I don’t recommend this-ever. A painful lightning bolt/jolt ripped through my body and I couldn’t seem to let go of the fence. When my back is revolting against me, this is exactly the pain I feel when I move wrong. Most often occurs when I’m trying to sit down or get back up. Ugh.

On October 28th, Hubs had minor surgery, which of course turned out to be more invasive and complicated than the surgeon predicted, so he needed to go back to have some packing removed (don’t ask). Oh alright it’s his nose/sinus. He hasn’t been able to breathe out of one nostril for 5 years. After tests a polyp or 2 were thought to be calling his right nostril home. But it wasn’t 2, more like several so his nose bled like a stuck hog and he needed some serious packing for a few days. As we were leaving after surgery, 3 different nurses specifically told me, “be sure to have him take a pain pill before he comes in on Tuesday. Removing the packing can be quite painful.”

Less than 24 hours after I foolishly tested the fickle finger of fate with my nonchalance, (November 2nd) you know what happened, right? I had showered, was dressed and killing time watering my plants, exchanging summer clothes for warmer weather duds (I hate winter) in my dresser drawers and closet while Hubs got ready for his appointment. Storing my capris/Keen sandals until May is always a downer. If I could squat more than 6 inches instead of bending completely over at my waist for everything this probably wouldn’t happen as often. But as I leaned over to pick up a stack for my bottom drawer my back slid out of place. (Why hadn’t I expressed gratitude for my healthy back in September or October? Why hadn’t I done those 2 loads of laundry sitting in the basement?) Hindsight.

I think this back hotspot has close ties with my chronic hamstring pain which started ailing in 2000. After I’d been walking daily for a couple years, the back of my left leg always felt sore and tight from the upper thigh to the back of my knee. (The tingling/swelling didn’t start for another decade). My son Josh told me to stand straight, cross my legs close together and bend over at the waist, stretching that taut muscle which usually helped. With my balance issues I could never attempt that exercise now unless a face plant was in order.

I never doctored about my back until a few years ago. Figured it just part of aging. I had some routine tests and was given a vague description of some nerve endings in my back losing their sheath lining or something. But lately I’m not getting over these back issues in a few days. The last one was a killer. In February of 2020 my back doled out (free of charge) frequent flyer spasms lasting 3 weeks. This happened about a year after my knee replacement and I swear the back/electric shocks were worse than pounding in my new joint and kneecap with a mallet.

Since I bore no fondness for the last 3 week freebie, I bit the bullet and called the doc’s office, making a virtual appointment. I was using 2 canes and still stooped over when Shannon suggested hauling out my walker (used for a few weeks after knee replacement). Walking from the parking lot to the office, sitting in the waiting room, then in a straight chair waiting for the doctor to come in was out of the question for at least a couple days and I really needed some relief.

I’m at the end of day 5 and seeing some improvement with the help of 2 prescriptions. I cooked supper for the first time since Monday. It doesn’t hurt too bad to stand so I prepped the veggies and measured the spices this afternoon. Tonight I browned crisp bacon, then hamburger, diced the redskins, sautéed the veggies, added broth and milk, simmered it, tossed in 2 cups of cheddar cheese and ta-da, Cheeseburger Soup.

I have such high expectations when I’m waking up. No pain, even when I carefully turn on my side or move my legs. I stand up fairly straight, walk gingerly-but not grasping for something to hang onto, turn up the furnace, start the coffee but it’s all downhill after that. I cannot avoid the bathroom any longer. When my back is in this shockingly super charged active mode, sitting down the first time is going to cause a spasm of shocks 95% of the time-guaranteed, no matter how slowly, carefully or where I place my seat on the seat. And I spend the rest of the day trying assuage it back to my morning high hopes, before my first formal sit-down.

Life-threatening, surgery worthy? Nah. My overall health remains good. It’s an acute reminder of how many times you bend over in a day-until you suddenly can’t. Pulling socks on, grabbing my pj’s off the floor, picking up a celery leaf on the kitchen floor, filling my drinking glass with ice (our freezer’s on the bottom) & lemon so I can gag down some water. But eventually it does get better.

Remember my 2020 walking record? Starting in early July, I walked 167 days in a row until my hamstring got the better of me in late December. After sporadic walking in Alabama, physical therapy when we got home, tests and a short jaunt using prednisone (a miracle drug but carries a whopping list of nasty side effects) I was determined to break my 167 day record. Made it to day 71 when my back decided to throw this latest shit fit. So I’ll start over as soon as I get my back under control. (And be more diligent about giving thanks for my parts that continue to work smoothly)…