I follow a few bloggers. One of my favorites recently posted and memories coursed through my head which initiated this. Brian (WritingfromtheheartwithBrian) was reminiscing about black Friday shopping years ago. At the time, he was actually staying home with the kiddos while his wife scurried for (bargain) Christmas presents. Top on their kid’s list that year were Game Boys. Those hand held games were the best invention since Fudge/Divinity/Penuche/Cinnamon Rolls/Soft pretzels with cinnamon/sugar/Cotton Candy in this mom’s opinion. (I might be hungry for something sweet). Game Boy was wholly responsible for peace on earth/good will towards sibs/keep your hands to yourself when we traveled. It’s one of the modern miracles.

Hubs is one of those guys who was born handy. He knows how to fix/repair/jerry-rig stuff although no one’s taught him. By year 18 of wedded bliss he had worked on, tore down to the frame, overhauled, replaced, spent hours meandering through salvage yards and literally months laying on his back underneath whatever junker we owned at the time, just trying to get back and forth to work.

But the times they were a changing. When we moved to Michigan in 1987 we had a 1984 Chevy S-10, but our other vehicle (questionable at best) was a 1978 Mitsubishi Sapporo-with a rebuilt engine Hubs had swapped-that didn’t quite fit and had issues. Our growing family of 5 didn’t fit in either one. Luckily Adam was small and was regularly delegated to the floor boards among our 6 legs & feet. Forget about seat belts.

Although we didn’t know it at the time, John’s dad was in the last year of his life. Jim had been battling leukemia for a couple years and most of his fighting days were over. We knew we’d be making a couple trips to Iowa and desperately needed good transportation that comfortably sat all of us for the one way, 12 hour drive. We hadn’t been in Michigan more than a few months when opportunity knocked.

A local guy was advertising his 1986 Astro van. Said he needed to give up one of his rides before it was repossessed and decided to keep a Corvette and a pickup (with 4 kids) and sell the van that fit his family. Goofball. The Astro van had 12,000 miles and he needed $12 thousand to break even. It was perfect for us. At the same time my parents offered us their 1978 Nova because Shannon had just gotten her license. Just think, for the first time we had 3 reliable means of transportation for 3 licensed drivers. Another miracle.

I started driving during the mid-60’s and the 1986 Chevy van was the first car we ever owned that was an automatic. I was so pleased/proud/protective of that mini-van I wouldn’t drive it during the winter (much to Shannon’s dismay because then we were sharing the Nova). I garaged the Astro in my neighbor’s extra stall and drove the Nova when the weather was bad (that’s December through March in Michigan).

While the kids were on summer break that year we drove to Iowa. You’d think they would have been thrilled with all the extra room the van offered but still they fought. Shannon claimed the entire back bench seat and listened to her music loud enough for the rest of us to enjoy-ugh (Walk like an Egyptian, Livin’ on a prayer, I just died in your arms) but there were spats the whole trip. “Adam farted,” “move over, you’re on my half,” Shannon’s music is too loud,” “mom, Josh is looking at me.” (Oh for the love of pete). By the next Iowa trip each gawking/farting/crowding/griping son had their own Game Boy (fully charged) and peace reigneth the entire trip. In 53 years of marriage (to date) those 2 Game Boys remain one of our best investments.

During that trip John brought his dad to the hospital for a blood transfusion (which he was now getting more frequently) when Jim said to his youngest son, “Johnny, this is the last time I’ll see you. I’m not coming back for any more transfusions. I’m done.” John argued and pleaded but Jim had made up his mind. He was going out on his terms and he was too tired to fight. He was right. He passed away a couple months later on November 4th. Jim was the first of our parent’s who died, but there were still 3 living Iowa parents so the multiple trips each year continued (along with hand held games/tooting boys/sullen teens) until my dad moved to Michigan in 2005…

I’ve always loved shopping when I could afford it, spending numerous hours cruising malls and antique shops. Several years ago we vacationed in Las Vegas for 5 (very long) days. It was torture spending that much time in a casino if you’re not a gambler, but shopping made the trip worthwhile. What a great way to spend a day. I was the best shopper though I rarely gave into moments of instant gratification. When I did succumb it was usually an antique I could not live without while remaining sane.

Realized the last few years I don’t enjoy shopping as much. Somewhere I’ve misplaced/deleted/failed to update my internal shopping app. I’m into living with less, not more. My needs outweigh my wants 10-1. No to more knick-knacks, holiday decorations or anything that requires dusting or taking up valuable wall space. Who knew I had a morsel of minimalist inside?

My disdain for shopping does not extend to groceries however. Still a favorite pastime except for the amount of money I spend and the empty shelves week after week. As soon as I get home from the store I write a new list of all the things I couldn’t find for my next grocery adventure. I’ve had clams (blech) on my list for at least a month running so Hubs can make his chowder again.

I need a new pair of jeans which should be a snap but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I could order a pair from Amazon but jeans are as personal as swimsuits. You have to try them on (by yourself) in person. The cutest pair on the rack make me look like Bigfoot with a 2 axe handle wide rear end and the least appealing pair does not look too bad. There might be an unwritten rule discouraging great grandma’s from wearing jeans.

Normally I am a rule follower to the letter but I’m not ready to give up blue jeans just yet. I refuse to wear ‘skinny’ jeans or a pair with so many rips it looks like I’ve been attacked by a grizzly and lived to tell the tale. Manufacturers seem to discount my segment of consumers so maybe I should heed their advice about giving up jeans. But the rebel inside says, no Neese. Do not give ‘them’ (manufacturers/fashion experts/influencers) the satisfaction.

I bought a new hearing aid a couple months ago and I’m in the process of having it tweaked (repeatedly). The doc sets ‘my program’ to what sounds good in her office, then I get on the highway and the noise from the road and tires drives me crazy before I’m 10 miles away. Walked in the house, said hi to Hubs, only to discover he’s acquired a serious speech impediment while I was away with his S’sssssssssssssss. He sounded like a ssssserpent. Well sssshoot. Called for another appointment and it was a 5 week wait (plus 50 miles away). I heard a lot of strange sssssounds from everyone during that time.

The day of my appointment I decided to stop at Briarwood Mall in Ann Arbor on my way home. Haven’t been there in ages and I shopped for jeans, but that’s where things went sideways. Somewhere between the pandemic and now, I gained some weight, lost some weight and discovered the overall shape of me has changed. Listen, I know gravity. I realize parts and attachments on this old gal are slipping closer to the ground at an alarming rate. Sections of me are saggy, pouchy, crepe papery plus flabby with knuckles that look like I was a heavyweight prizefighter back in the day. These weird body variances aren’t caused by a weight gain or loss.

Perhaps the reason is my lack of daily walking which has been a part of my routine for 25 years. My replacement knee is still touchy on the right side and my left leg constantly aches. I’m just not ready to go under the knife again which explains why my calves/thighs are not as firm as they should be but my leg shape near my knee is off too. My middle seems thicker lately although my weight is good. And my gut is out shining my lackluster chest which is another huge bust.

I’m going with the most logical explanation. I’ve morphed into a shape-shifter. But if this is my new superpower why would I ever shift my shape into this? Goodness no. Maybe if I concentrate using all my remaining brain cells, I can turn this tide and reshape my image into something more aesthetically pleasing who fits into normal sized, appropriately aged clothing lacking odd shaped bumps and misappropriated bulges…

Nearly 2 decades have passed and I’m still perplexed that dad moved to Michigan after mom passed away in 2004. Rock Valley was the town he called home his whole life, minus short stints at CCC (Civilian Conservation Corps) and the Army. He was exhausted from caregiving, yard work, shoveling snow and had grown equally weary of being a home owner after remodeling and repairing their home for 50 years.

At the time we’d been in Michigan nearly 20 years (which was just as surprising)! I thought we’d move back to Iowa in 3 years or less, yet here we remain. Dad and mom visited us frequently but it surely wasn’t home. After losing his wife of 62 years he realized at 88 not many of his friends were still around.

Dad was saved after my brother Larry was killed in 1958. From that day forward he dedicated his life to Jesus and our church (Reformed Church of America) serving as an elder, Sunday school teacher, a champion advocate/teacher/preacher/lay minister for prison inmates. All those activities came to a screeching halt when mom was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma a few years prior to her death. He was no longer able to gallivant to far parts of Iowa and South Dakota because Mom couldn’t be left alone for hours on end.

We were both apprehensive when I encouraged him to sell their old family home and move to Michigan because we’d never been close. Guess what? He agreed without fanfare. (Oh what have I done) In retrospect it was the right call and we both benefited during his last years.

I did the Michigan legwork (set up a Bible study for him to teach at the prison and a nursing home when he arrived) while he listed the Iowa house. Five months after mom’s death we rented a U-Haul and moved dad to an apartment a block from our home. There were a few awkward moments but gradually he learned his way around our small town and met some folks his age.

There were some minor cultural shocks for dad after living in a small community for 8 decades. He never came to terms that in a larger city atmosphere (40,000 versus 4,000) not everyone goes to church on Sunday morning or bows their head in prayer before eating in a restaurant. He wanted everyone to do as he did where God was concerned and felt compelled to inquire about their “you need to get right with God” or “are you saved” status.

Soon after dad settled in North Muskegon, he was back preaching and teaching Bible study to inmates at the prison and felt a great sense of worth and fulfillment again. The thorn was finding him a church home. He was drawn to Christian Reformed but that church was 6-8 miles away, plus they had services at night and I didn’t want him driving after dark. He visited the Methodist church where we belonged but was unenthusiastic. After a couple months of searching we found a Reformed Church not far away (a straight shot except turning into the parking lot).

I accompanied him to services for weeks. He noted they dressed more casual than he was used to but was pretty comfortable from the get-go. He enjoyed the sermons and started attending Sunday school. I helped him fill out a ‘newcomer’s’ card, then he waited to be contacted.

Most of us are reluctant to change and dad was no exception. His assumption was every Reformed church operates in the same manner/programs as his church from Rock Valley. Dad anticipated getting a phone call to set up an appointment between him and the senior pastor after the church office learned of his interest in joining because that’s how potential members are welcomed into the fold in Iowa. Dad attended regularly and felt a connection, but after a few weeks he’d still not heard back from clergy about getting together for ‘the talk before you join.”

I decided to call the church. The pastor took my call and asked what he could do for me? “It’s not for me but my dad is eager to join church and has been wondering when the two of you can get together to discuss it.” “Ah, there’s not much to talk about really. We know Rich wants to be part of our congregation because of the paperwork. We’ll just set a date and welcome him on a certain Sunday, ok?” “Well no not really. He wants a one-on-one conversation with you. Dad needs to be wooed.” “I don’t woo.” (And there lies the rub)

“Dad’s kinda old school and has served in the consistory many times as an elder and they routinely visited members. But the senior pastor always visits potential members. Dad assumes every Reformed Church does the same. Could you make a point to stop and see him for a half hour before you set his date for his membership?”

The pastor finally agreed it would go a long way to visit with dad for a few minutes. (Dang). Dad never realized I advocated on his behalf before he and the pastor met for coffee one afternoon. They got along famously-after dad was sufficiently wooed…