So this business of storytelling. The folks reading my blog posts for almost 2 years now, know I write about every facet of my life. Every facet. Growing up in Rock Valley, Iowa, eloping at 18, motherhood, marriage, my life long love of the elderly. The complicated relationships with my Mom, Dad and sister. Not much has been off limits in baring ‘all of Neese’ in my bizarre little life. Until my stunning, beautiful, smart, sassy, talented, soon-to-be-12-year-old granddaughter, Peyton put the brakes on my writing. Have I mentioned she’s a bit assertive? Wonder who in the world she inherited that trait from?

 

Peyton, my little Ballerina, 2005…

Ok, Peyton’s granted me plenty of leeway on most subjects. Doesn’t care when I appear dumb, foolish, or write about things which should forever remain untold. Rolls her eyes at my silly subject matter, poor grammar, probably many of the pictures I use. And she truly cares not one whit about my writing. As long as it’s not about her! Technically, she did not forbid me not to write about her. She merely insisted she would read, edit, have complete control and authority over every word I write about her before I hit publish. Yup, that’s my power-tripping, pre-teen, fabulous granddaughter.

 

Lovely, graceful Peyton, 5 in 2009…

 

The reason for these strong feelings and opinions in writing about Peyton stems from one silly, stupid sentence I wrote! Can you believe it? If you’re curious about what messed her up so badly, go back to the story I wrote in December of 2014. Aptly named, Landon Andrew. See if you can discover the horrible incident which is now the reason I’m edited by an 11 year old. Sigh. But before we get into Peyton’s story, you need to understand a very real, concrete theory which concerns our family. When we get to PJ’s part, if it’s only a sentence or 2, you’ll know why. I’ve been hog-tied.

 

Peyton’s smile lights up the world, 2008…

 

First, let me explain our numbering system. Months and years don’t count here, only the actual dates. We had a good pattern working in our little family. For decades. I was born on the 2nd. Hubs was born on the 4th. Nice, low even numbers. The way God intended. Shannon Marie was first to join our unit, born on the 4th. Evenly spacing our kids a good 4 plus years apart, Joshua joined our merry crew with his entrance on the 2nd. Are you detecting a pattern here?

 

Mutual admiration society, Ariana 15, PJ, 2, 2006…

 

Adam proved to be a bit dicey. His due date was on the 7th. Yikes. But as a breech baby, with only 2 tiny feet pressing in my birth canal, he was in no big hurry to make his appearance just yet. The 7th came and went. Ugh, because I was overdue, whew, because he missed the 7th. He also missed the 8th, 9th, 10th, and 11th. Do I have to tell you how incredibly sick I was about still being pregnant? And worried? With some serious concerns for his healthy birth? I thought not. Adam came into our world feet first and shakey on the 12th. But wait, all was right with our little Adam, his birth date and our numbers world. If you add John’s, Shannon’s, Joshua’s and my birthdate numbers, it totals 12. Ta-da.

 

Nearly 9 months pregnant with Adam, 1979…

 

Our next extra special numbers addition was our first grand child. Ariana wiggled her way into our hearts and lives on the 8th. We gained our son-in-law Tracey, who was born on the 10th. My totally amazing grandson Landon, (Drew to the rest of the world) popped in on the 4th. Timing is impeccable with that kid.

 

Peyton with Ari at first Ballet recital, 2007…

 

So now we’re up to my blog post title holder. My beautiful granddaughter Peyton was due on 04-04-04. How clever is that? And she has proven to be a lot more than just clever. But she was a no-show on the 4th. Ditto with the 5th and 6th. We were nearing panic mode, but Shannon and I decided she would certainly wait until the 8th and share that date with her big sis, Ari. The moment they laid eyes on each other, they have been devoted, despite their age difference of 13 years. Have I told you how fiercely independent Peyton has been her whole (short little) life?

 

Cute as a bug, Peyton 6 months, 2004…

 

Shannon called when she was in labor, but said things were moving slowly and assured me she wouldn’t be giving birth until past midnight. I drove to Jackson because I will be taking care of Ariana and Landon, almost 4. I made a quick stop at the hospital to say hi to Shannon and Tracey. I walked into the birthing room, noticed the mid-wife and continued to walk towards Shannon. Guess who beat me to the bed before I got there? Miss Peyton Jada! We still had 6 hours to go before midnight. Hmmm. Peyton decided to make her own Lowder/Van Berkum timetable. Odd. The date was definitely still the 7th. She was extraordinaryly beautiful. And tiny, weighing 6 pounds even. Wouldn’t you know, she didn’t have any odd ounces, just an odd birthdate. But Shannon felt great. Life was good. This was Wednesday night.

 

Peyton 11, taking a break from keyboard practice, 2015…

 

Landon has many allergies. To name a few, beef, chocolate, eggs, nuts and milk. Around this time, he was obsessed with fried chicken. My fried chicken. But only legs. Not thighs, wings, white meat, just drumsticks. Of course we had to have a meal of fried chicken while I was there. So I was frying a mess (meaning many, and yes, very messy) of legs on Thursday night. Tracey was leaving the hospital in his car, John was leaving in another to have supper with us. Shannon’s good friend, Colleen was at the hospital, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over exquisite Peyton. About 2 blocks from the hospital, Tracey was T-boned by a lady running a red light cause she needed some smokes. John passed the accident before the ambulance, realizing it was Tracey, turned around and went back to the hospital. Since Tracey was not yet at the ER, John went to Shannon’s room. He started with, “Shannon, I’m sorry. Tracey never made it home from the hospital. He was in an accident!” As Shannon has said for 12 years: Worst. News. Delivery. Ever! She thought T was dead.

 

Peyton loves Ballet, and it shows, 2016…

 

When they brought Tracey to the ER, he was wearing a bracelet from the mother/baby ward. The ER folks couldn’t figure out why this guy was already wearing a band from their own hospital. Tracey hurt his neck and shoulder, but it wasn’t life-threatening.

 

Peyton looking very fetching, 2011…

 

Shannon and Peyton were doing terrific. Nursing was going smoothly, so mom and babe went home on Friday. I stayed until Saturday, then went back to Muskegon to get ready for Easter. But Shannon was doing poorly by Sunday. Shannon fed Peyton, then asked Ari to watch the baby for a little while so she could rest. Tracey went to the bedroom to check on Shannon a couple hours later, and found her under a pile of blankets, almost delirious. Ariana watched Landon, (yes, I believe he was still called Landon at this point, but it wouldn’t be long before he changed to his signature logo, Drew, for the rest of the world except me). Tracey loaded up sick mommy, PJ and headed to the hospital. By the time they arrived and parked, Shannon was unable to walk. After the car accident 2 days prior, still very stiff and sore, Tracey grabbed the carrier with 6 pound Peyton in one arm, and not quite close to 6 pound Shannon in the other arm.

 

I love, love this serious pose. Peyton, 2005…

 

Without getting too graphic, the ER doc thought a piece of placenta had broken off, (somewhat common) causing Shannon’s high fever. This was not the case though. She had a serious, unknown infection. Shannon suggested (see the assertive trait here) IV home therapy and they would be on their way. The doc was pretty blunt. “It’s Easter Sunday. There is no home IV therapy. You have to be admitted. Or you’re going to die.” (To this day, Shannon believes this was the same infection her great-grandma Wanningen suffered and died from at age 22 after my Mom and her twin brother were born in 1926. Unfortunately, back then there were no antibiotics to fight this killer infection). The hospital would not however, re-admit Peyton. Shannon called me, sobbing and so very sick.

 

PJ must chew pearls when solving the worlds problems, 2004…

 

I packed another suitcase, hopped in the car and tried to prepare myself for taking care of tiny newborn, Peyton. Little did I know. Tracey would not let that baby out of his sight, except when he came home after a long day running errands and staying at the hospital. Shannon was not only dangerously ill, she was devastated. Their pediatrician told Shannon she wouldn’t be able to nurse Peyton while on such strong antibiotics because it causes deafness in newborns. Now Tracey had to encourage PJ to take formula-from a bottle. Shannon was determined to keep milk production up so they could resume nursing when she was better. Unfortunately for Shannon, she had been admitted to the pediatric ward. Every time she heard a baby cry, her milk let down. Fortunately for Peyton, this would serve her well in the future when they were back home together. So Shannon pumped-dumped-and-cried, while Tracey took care of Peyton. I watched Ari and Landon during the week, which happened to be spring break. Tracey would drop Peyton off at the hospital for a few hours during the day. The doctors and nurses pretended not to notice a extra little person sharing Shannon’s room. When friends stopped by to visit, they were assigned feeding Peyton formula. If Shannon tried to feed PJ, she absolutely would not take the bottle. It’s that whole/mommy/smell/bond/nuzzle/thingy.

 

One of our favorite things we do together, make fudge, 2014…

 

By Wednesday after Easter, Shannon was feeling much better, but still on antibiotics. Happily for both of them, after 3 long, gut-wrenching, emotional weeks, Peyton went right back to nursing without a hiccup. And her superb hearing was never an issue. I’ve always been careful of what I said about my Mom after I moved to Michigan in 1987. She could honestly hear what I said about her. And she lived in Iowa, about 800 miles away. Yeah, Peyton has that kind of hearing.

 

Cutie pie Peyton, 6 mo, 2004…

 

As she did with Landon, Shannon took an extended maternity leave after Peyton for about 5 months. Plenty of time to bond. And move on to the next big step in her career. Decided not to go back to her job as foster care supervisor with the state, but begin a 4 year program to acquire her Ph.D. Those kids of mine, so smart and ambitious. Tracey, always supportive (and a little envious) of Shannon, stepped it up several notches. Since Shannon would be driving to Detroit daily, much of the day to day childcare duties, hauling them here and there would be up to him. And he took the reins like the champ he is.

 

Peyton 3, with daddy behind her, 2007…

 

Peyton went to day care in a home until Shannon enrolled her in Montessori pre-school/daycare. PJ grew and thrived into a brilliant toddler. Artsy-fartsy, loved drawing, coloring, and was introduced to Ballet by the time she was 3. Her first dance recital was incredible. The dance studio always has the youngest dancers do their routine first, because they have the interest span of a gnat. The teachers lead the half dozen 3 year olds on stage and stood them on their respective marks. The music started, and one little darling dancer moved with the music. Yup, Peyton. The others stood-awestruck. Did Peyton continue the routine by herself? Well yes, sort of. In between moves, she’d scoot to another statue (awestruck toddler) and literally twirl the next moves with her. Talk about a born leader. It was endearing and hilarious. What a hoot.

 

Life is serious. Peyton and Ariana, 2015…

 

PJ inherited her mom’s (and grandma’s) love of books. Another voracious reader. I don’t believe she’s ever come over to our house without vast amounts of reading material. Doesn’t matter if the visit is 2 hours or a week. She sets very high goals for herself in her school work. I believe she was reading at 11 grade level when she was in 4th grade.

 

One of my favorites of PJ, 2006…

 

Still dancing. An exquisite Ballet dancer, now also enjoys Contemporary and Jazz. Peyton has taken voice and piano lessons for several years. She’s in the Honor’s Choir as one of the few 6th graders at school. Likes to compete in singing competitions. Dreamed of trying out on American Idol, but that dream has been dashed as this is their last season. Not to forget her studies, she also competes in her school’s academic games. With dad at 6′ 4″ and some height on our side of the family, PJ will be closer to 6 foot than 5 when she’s done growing. She does not care for basketball, preferring to read during Landon’s basketball games. She does enjoy playing volleyball.

 

Peyton’s unique light surrounds her, 2015…

 

Before I stop, I must add the next members (and numbers) to the quirky Van Berkum bunch. The next one is a little tricky and required some serious brain power on my part for a logical solution. Lo and behold, about 8 years ago, Adam started dating a beautiful young woman named Sarah. They became parents 6 years ago to our 4th grandchild. A smart, cute, precocious boy named Graham. Who could rattle off every 18 syllable, technical, dinosaur species name by age 2. As God is my witness, a true statement. Well, Graham was a double whammy. Not only born on the 10th, that date was also Tracey’s birthday. Alas, Sarah’s date is (I can hardly type it) the 11th. Hold the phone. Really, it’s ok. Graham is the 10th, Sarah’s the 11th, and Adam is the 12th. Makes perfect sense. At least in my ‘little’ world.

 

Sarah, Graham and Adam on vacation, 2015…

 

Which brings me to our last addition (so far). Erica Little. MSU grad in mechanical engineering. Pretty, smart, savvy, runner and health nut. She hooked the whole family with one dazzling smile, and her infectious laugh. But it was Josh who fell hard. And we’re so glad he did. Now married 3-1/2 years, they’ve been busy remodeling (down to the studs) a house in Detroit. It’s nearly ready for them to move in later this spring. Erica’s date? Though heading for the stratosphere, still an even number at 18.

 

2012, Cancun. Josh and Erica’s wedding…

 

Just a sneak peak at one of my 4 favorite, fabulous grandchildren and a snippet on the family. Numbers, who knew? Well, I’m going to add some cute pictures and send this off to my boss, the editor. Your guess is as good as mine on how many red slash marks it contains when I get my copy back. Don’t be too hard on your gram Peyton. Every word was typed with lots of love, pride and admiration. Happy birthday, Peyton…

 

PJ knows how to live on the wild side, 2016…

 

About the time I hit third grade, Mom went to work full time. As a treat, or maybe because Mom and Dad were exhausted, we started going out for supper every weekend. Always on Saturday night. Various restaurants, different towns. From the tiny blink and you missed it, Perkins Corner, Rock Rapids, Sioux Center, Hull, to Canton, S.D. Generally, I got to invite a friend along. I don’t remember who picked the location. Probably Mom. She was more adventuresome in trying new foods. As I remember Dad ordered a hamburger steak wherever we ate. I think he was about 70 before we convinced him to try a slice of pizza for the first time.

 

Mom and Dad as newlyweds, 1942…

Six nights a week, Mom cooked. I don’t think she loved cooking, but there was a hot meal on the table most nights. Mom was orderly. She had a plan. Not one of these, what should I make tonight when it was already 5 pm. She wanted her meal served, dishes done and out of the kitchen by 6-max. It was not in her DNA to come home from a long, tiring day of work, maybe facing a couple hours at the laundromat or ironing and not have a good idea of what she was making for supper. She often used her electric fry pan, or popped something in the oven soon after she got home. She loved casseroles, and so did I. Dad, not so much. But he didn’t complain about her choice or her cooking. I don’t remember him ever cooking when I was a kid. I only remember having one grill in our back yard. And it was rarely used. Dad wasn’t a steak guy, but Mom and I had steak once in a while. She always bought rib steaks because she thought the marbling gave it such good flavor. She usually just fried them in a pan. Often with fried onions. Maybe a touch of pink in the center, but certainly not as rare as I eat steak today.

 

Mom and Dad about their 15th anniversary…

 

Her meals weren’t fancy, but they were good. Iceberg lettuce for salads with Wishbone Catalina French dressing. I can honestly say I never had broccoli, cauliflower, shrimp, crab, lobster, or Chinese food while I lived at home. Mom must have become enlightened after I left. Not about seafood (other than Starkist Tuna and Demings Red Sockeye Salmon) or Chinese but her world really expanded in the fresh vegetable department.

 

Mom, Dad, Mona and Larry. Before Neese, about 1949…

 

Dad might have attempted cooking a few meals after Mom got sick, but that was rare. One of them might suggest Green Acres Drive Inn, chicken dinners from Hy Vee, or Pizza Hut. After Mom was home bound, I routinely stocked their freezer to the brim. Only requirement of Dad was getting their choice out of the freezer to thaw and heating it up. It worked for them for years. If Dad was picking up take out for them, Mom was still well enough to be left alone for short periods of time. Although had the house caught fire while he was gone, she surely would have perished. He often left without leaving the phone within her reach, or locked the door when home health care aides were due. Thus they couldn’t get in the house. And if they called, Mom couldn’t answer the phone. Frustrating when I was 800 miles away. These just weren’t things he thought about. He wasn’t being negligent on purpose.

Mom, Dad and grandson Brian, 1962…

 

This also afforded Dad a break from Mom and being in the house. He was always much more social than Mom and the isolation of them being alone together constantly took its toll. But after almost 60 years of marriage, this was just the way it was. Dad got on Mom’s nerves, and poor Dad just wanted his old life back. Teaching, preaching, visiting the sick, not stuck in the house constantly. Mom knew how to push his buttons alright. He’d bring her supper to the living room, go back to the kitchen and sit down to eat when she’d yell, “Ri-ich, Ri-ich.” He probably needed to count to 10 (or 100), get up, walk in the other room to ask what she needed? Only to learn she noticed one of the dining room chair legs was moved a 1/2 inch out of its own carpet indentation groove. She could be trying at times, and a caregiver he was not.

 

Dad, me and Larry, 1951…

 

I don’t know why they didn’t eat together anymore. Dad would bring Mom her plate of food to her usual spot in the living room. He chose to sit alone in the kitchen. I suppose there was just too much togetherness when Mom became home bound. They still needed their own space, maybe mealtime apart from each other filled the bill.

 

My favorite shot of Mom. Late 1970’s…

 

When it became apparent that Dad was not keeping up in the caregiving and cleaning departments they hired some outside help. My longtime friend, Char came over nearly every day for several years, helping Mom out with her personal needs. Picking up the place. Other aides were hired too. But Mom and Dad stayed in that house way too long to be healthy for either one of them. Mom’s needs far exceeded what Dad was capable of giving. I really can’t tell you how many times she fell, because I don’t know. And they were quite secretive about such things. The worst part of her falling? She never, ever fell alone.

 

Dad, Mom, Mona and me, 10, 1961…

 

During Mom’s first bout with Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, smack-dab in the middle of her chemo treatments, they discovered the chemo had done some damage to her heart and she suffered a stroke. Weakness on one side. She went to physical therapy for about a week. Refused to go after that. She would never walk by herself again. Or write with her beautiful penmanship. (Yes, schools should still teach cursive writing). It was not only hard to lose her independence, but depending on Dad for help, food, house cleaning, companionship was more than either had signed up for. They did make it work, though awkwardly for a few years. Since Dad had to help her stand and walk or move to a wheelchair, whenever she lost her balance, she took him with her. I can’t believe neither of them really ever got hurt. No broken hips, arms or concussions that I learned about. But they would often show me the bruises of their last tumble when I went home. Dad would either soften Mom’s fall, or she would soften his, depending on which way they fell. Oy vey. Since they were about the same height and weight, usually Dad could manage to get her up by himself. If not, he did call for help. Often my brother-in-law Jim, the chief of police in Rock Valley at the time, was the first to show up at the house.

 

Mom, 24 and newborn me, early 1951…

 

Mom always had a real soft spot in her heart for Valley Manor. She had worked there for years (I’m doing a story on Valley Manor soon). But Mom was failing and getting weaker, and Dad, almost 10 years her senior, those caregiving duties were just too much. They talked to Valley Manor’s administration and decided Mom would become a resident in a couple weeks. Dad was so relieved. Mom was on board, and I thought the transition would be smooth. But soon Mom got it in her head that living in Valley Manor would somehow be a huge mistake. She did moved in, but it was ugly. Mom had worked at Valley Manor 2 different times and in 2 positions. First as a nurses aide, later as the coffee lady, 6 mornings a week. She loved both jobs. The more she thought about her decision to become a resident there, the more she hated the idea. Mom was suddenly embarrassed at the idea of living where she once worked. From the get-go she was not a happy camper. Not very appreciative or nice to the help. And downright mean to Dad. She begged him to take her home. She wailed. Loudly. For hours. Which turned into days, then weeks. When Dad refused to bring her back home, she had a sign put on her door. Strict instructions plastered for all to see that Rich Gerritson was not allowed to visit or enter her room. This was a huge embarrassment for Dad. After just a few trial weeks, Dad unhappily brought Mom back home. Now there was a happy reunion. Not.

 

Mom and Joshua, 1976 in the orange kitchen…

 

This arrangement wouldn’t last long. Now Mom really required skilled nursing care. I believe this was her idea a few months later. She requested Dad call Fellowship Village in nearby Inwood. It would be a few miles hike for Dad at age 86, but this time Mom was really willing to give the place a fair shake. I finally realized how it uncomfortable it must have been for Mom to live at Valley Manor. But it had been totally her idea in the first place. With her mental capabilities somewhat diminished, she needed some of those decisions made for her, not by her. Mom adjusted beautifully at Fellowship. Grew very fond of several of the nurses and aides. For the last year of her life, she was quite happy and contented. The cancer was back with a vengeance, huge lumps all over, but Mom had decided she was forever done with more treatments. She was ready to go to her real home. Heaven with her Mom, Dad, brother Floyd, and the 4 grandparents who raised her and whom she loved like parents. And Larry. She couldn’t wait to see her only son Larry again.

 

Mom and Dad, mid-1980’s…

 

Dad drove to Fellowship daily, spending several hours with Mom. Often eating their noon meal together. Him sitting on the empty bed in the same room. Not talking much but spending time together. He’d help Mom eat first, urging the aides to help someone else. He had a tendency to try and hurry her along. Mom was always a slow, deliberate eater, and after the stroke needed more time to chew. Dad had to be reminded to slow it down and use smaller bites when helping her.

 

Josh, Mom and Shannon, 1977 on the farm…

 

On September 19, 2004 Mom and Dad celebrated their 62nd anniversary. Hard to believe from a couple so mismatched. Fellowship hung a banner on Mom’s door with a big 62. There was a cake and ice cream celebration during the afternoon. The couple who stayed together, but often lived on their own terms looked rather happy and proud of their accomplishment. I could see real affection between them. Something nice to remember about my folks. Exactly one month later, Mom slipped away, shortly after noon. She had called me the night before, barely able to whisper, saying “I love you, Denise” over and over…

 

Me and Mom, eastern Iowa, about 1975…

 

 

 

 

I assume other states do these rankings. The only one I’ve ever noticed is the Sunday Parade Magazine All-American ranking of the current sport. (BTW, what’s up with Parade Magazine these days? It’s scrawny, and I miss the guest writers on the back page). I think this group of athletes are usually high school seniors. Anyway, some Michigan group does high school basketball rankings during the season. I don’t know if they do younger than 8th grade, but Landon (Drew to the rest of the world) was ranked 40th last year.

 

Northwest basketball, ranked 40th in the state, 2015…

Landon wanted so badly to be ranked in the top ten for his freshman basketball season in the class of 2019. He came in number 16. (This gram is immensely proud) A vast improvement from 40th when you consider several of the 15 dudes ranked above him didn’t make their varsity team this winter. Holy smokes, can you imagine what Landon would have been ranked had he played junior varsity? For sure in the top 5. That’s never been the way he rolls though. Always played with older, bigger, better players. Constantly pushing himself to improve.

 

Hey, we’re moving on up. Ranked 16th his freshman year, 2016…

 

After being told Landon would not be playing basketball for another 4 weeks, this winter went into slow motion. He was bummed, I was morose, feeling bad for him. The worst part, his foot with the stress fracture was feeling 100%. Not good enough. He needed to finish physical therapy, thus lowering his chances of re-injury. He went to a terrific sports rehab place just for athletes. I guess they think there maybe a few sports stars in Ann Arbor. Go figure.

 

Landon getting his District Championship medal, 3-2016…

 

Landon was finally cleared to play with 2 regular season games left. Although he was used to his team, the plays and coaches, it was kind of like starting over for this kid. He seemed somewhat tentative. Landon’s defense was spot on, but against their biggest rival, he scored no points. Played about half the game which was typical. He had a couple rebounds, assists and fouls, but as I remember, he never attempted a shot. Huron had won the first match up while Landon was out with his foot. Pioneer won the second game though.

 

Landon (Drew) against Huron, 2016…

 

Our last game before tournament play wasn’t a very good team. But Pioneer looked tired, out of sync and it showed. They lost when they should have won easily. Ugh. Landon had 6 points, playing about half the game. His defense was very good. Not the way his team wanted to finish, but their record was still way above 500, at 16-4.

 

Landon in white. Good D, Dude…

 

Next up, district tournament. For the third time this season, Pioneer would play one of their inner city rivalry’s, Skyline. Happily, for 3rd time, Pioneer would dominate and win. Landon, for some reason plays exceptionally well against Skyline. Don’t know if it’s a player from their team (Landon was talking trash during their first meeting, and came very close to a technical foul) but he had another good game. He scored 8, with one turnover.

 

Landon, 3 going for a layup, 3-2016…

 

District finals would be against their other big rival, Ann Arbor Huron. They split the season with one win a piece. Huron was pumped with junk the whole game. They were itching for a fight and continued to verbally torment our guys. Their coach got tossed for a double technical. Pioneer won by 11. Landon played well, not scoring much, but great defense again. Pioneer got a very nice trophy.

 

Landon and Tracey with District Champ trophy, 3-2016…

 

Moving on to Regionals. Team from the Detroit area, called Woodhaven something. They managed to stay with Pioneer for the first half, but got blown away during the third quarter. Landon had 4 steals, 2 rebounds, 2 assists and 2 points. Pioneer won by more than 20.

 

An AAU tourney win last season, 2015..,

 

Their next foe was Ypsilanti. (Wonder who named that crazy town?) Before the game started, I watched Pioneer warm up. Landon swished 10 of 11 three-pointers from all over the court. At one point, one of his team mate’s shots ricocheted off the rim, and landed in a trash barrel, about 6 feet out of bounds in the corner. Landon ran over to retrieve it, turned around and let it fly. Nothing but net. I just knew he was going to have a good game. That little bit of cockiness he carries most of the time (from his dad Tracey, no doubt about that) was evident.

 

Big heads made for the last few games. With beautiful sis, Ari. Yes, his head is actual size…

 

Ypsi’s very good. We lost to them badly the day Landon thought he would be cleared to play, but ended up wearing the boot another 2 weeks. Ypsi’s been ranked in the top 5 all year. I don’t believe Pioneer ever had the lead. At the beginning of the second half, we got within a couple of buckets, but it was never very close. Pioneer was out matched and out performed. Still, Landon had such an awesome game. My favorite freshman would account for over 25% of Pioneer’s point total, leading in the scoring department. He had three 3’s and a layup.

 

Pioneer’s Big Heads. Landon, 3rd from left…

 

So Landon’s freshman season of Pioneer basketball is over. I’ve moved all my purple clothes (thanks Tracey) to another closet until December. Sigh. (Alas, I may have to get them out for football season, if Landon decides to play. Why can’t he just love baseball? He’s so good). Besides the games where he was on injured reserved, I’ve missed one game this season. A no name opponent in a small holiday tourney that was about 45 minutes away. The weather was so bad, Shannon and Tracey brought along extra clothes, thinking they would have to spend the night at a hotel. Took them over 2 hours to get there. I got updates throughout their easy victory. But I’m forever grateful that we were able to move 160 miles closer before the season started. Thanks God. Most games were about half an hour away. A very good season, weather and basketball wise.

 

Swishing one of his 3-pointers. Purple shoes and all…

 

Rex (head coach for Pioneer) was interviewed after their Regional tourney loss. He sang praises for the seniors and optimistically looked ahead to the coming year. Here’s a snippet of what he had to say.

 

Pretty complimentary of Landon’s ability. Also wrong on the points, he had 22, not 21…

 

But all is not lost sports fans. To the masses of Landon inspired basketball fans, take heart. He’s about to begin his second year, playing out of Cleveland, Ohio on an AAU team. (AAU stands for Amateur Athlete Union). His team is sponsored by LeBron James and Nike. A travel league that competes all over the country. Landon will play with guys his own age in this league, so he’ll be in the 15u, meaning 15 and under. About a dozen tournaments during May and July, with the month of June off. From Las Vegas, Orlando, Nashville, South Carolina, to Georgia, he’ll pit himself against the best players in the country who are his age.

 

Young Ari, loving # 3, and hoping he plays for the Hawkeyes….

 

So in his semi-half off season, he’ll grow. And eat. And think about girls. He’ll get his driver’s license about Labor Day. Little bit of a scary thought. Every time I give him a ride, he wants to drive my Jeep. Yikes. Really. Yikes. I like my Jeep. A lot. Without dings and scratches. I remember teenage drivers very well. We went through 3 of them years ago. All of them had accidents or tickets within the first couple years. All of them.

 

Practicing to be Landon’s biggest cheerleader since 1965…

 

Don’t know if any of you caught my tricky meaning in the title, Hoop-LA’s. L A stands for Landon Andrew. Rather clever I thought…

 

So this is what all the Hoop-LA is about, 2002…

 

 

We’ve all experienced moments which are truly special in our lives. Some big, some small, some as a nation, though most are personal. Thinking about my small moments, some stand out with such clarity at the strangest times, it literally takes my breath away. Accompanied by tears once in a while, but not always sad.

 

Adam and me delivering papers in 1989. Drawing by Jack, a customer…

One of my first big moments came when I was 7. Minding my own Saturday morning business, watching cartoons when my world was turned upside down. How could such life changing, devastating news be offered by a phone call? I never really thought about that before. My poor Mom, busy doing her Saturday cleaning receiving a phone call informing her my 12 year old brother Larry had been hit by a car while riding his bike and was dead. An unearthly wail that made the hair stand up on my skinny, little arms came from her as she dropped the phone and ran out the door. I honestly didn’t know what to think, since I knew nothing of what had transpired through that phone conversation. Only that something was seriously wrong with Mom. What had just happened in my happy little world? She was running around in circles on 15th Street. All I could do was watch her from the living room window, and cry because I was scared. By the time my Dad got home and learned the gruesome news, our house was packed with friends, elders and the minister from church. Could not have been as bad to hear the news surrounded by family and caring friends as the way Mom got the awful news that day.

 

Mona, me, Spitzy and Larry, 1957…

 

My grandpa, Lakey Wanningen got stomach cancer soon after Larry died in 1958. He died during the summer of 1960 when I was almost 10. I remember sitting next to my Mom at grandpa’s funeral. Wondering about the wisdom of God who saw fit to take Larry from me before my grandpa passed away. (Chastising Him throughout the service). And grandpa wasn’t even that old. But a lot older than Larry. Not very nice thoughts, but still seemed valid to a young girl struggling with loss and a lot of resentment.

 

My grandpa Lakey who had his own plane…

 

A sad moment shared by millions the day president Kennedy was shot, November 22, 1963. I was 2 weeks away from my 13th birthday. When I heard the news I was about to open the library door at school. School was dismissed, I walked home. Mom came home from work. We sat glued to the TV and cried all day.

Late December, 1970. My first weeks of motherhood. Just celebrated my 20th birthday. I didn’t know how to mother. We had this awesome huge flat screen TV. No wait, I don’t believe it was quite that big. Try a 13 inch color portable we couldn’t afford. Shannon, my amazing newborn was fascinated with a couple of things. One was a new fangled TV program geared towards teaching children. Maybe not quite as small as Shannon, but I knew exactly how bright she was at that very young age. It was called Sesame Street. I decided this program was a must see for my bright baby. So 3 week old Shannon and mommy watched as Bob ran away from the camera (far), then ran lickety-split back towards the camera (near). About 10 times. Yup, she really got it, I could tell. Forty-five years later she’s never stopped her need to learn.

 

Grandpa Jim with Shannon, early 1971…

 

We were living in a little 3 room house at the time. It was so close to the railroad tracks across Hiway 75, her crib (which was in the living room) used to scoot a few inches every time a train rumbled past. It was almost Christmas, and 2 week old Shannon loved staring (though sometimes cross eyed) at the lights on our tree. The tree wasn’t very big because we had absolutely no room, but that holiday season, no one enjoyed the lights and tinsel on our tree more than our newborn daughter.

 

Shannon waiting for Sesame Street, 1970…

 

Jump forward a few years when a second newborn entered our lives. Quiet, contented Joshua. Not quite so quiet one day as I was running behind on his schedule. He was fussing loudly for his next bottle when his cries suddenly stopped. Dead silence. My heart thudded. I zipped in the living room, expecting a catastrophe. Instead, Josh gazed contentedly at his 4-1/2 year old sister sitting next to him while sucking on one of her muddy fingers. I bit my lip and swallowed a reprimand on her mothering techniques, cleaned his mouth, washed her hands, and prayed nothing bad would happen as he digested a small amount of her famous mud pie. I still remember what each of them were wearing the day big sis muted her new baby brothers cries.

 

New Vienna, Iowa. Shannon and Joshua, mid 1975…

 

Early in 1980. We were living in Spencer, Iowa. Adam was about 8 months old. My third (and last) baby. He was just learning to creep. More pushing, pulling movements than getting up on his knees yet. Kind of sad to say, I seem to remember lots more about his babyhood than Shannon and Joshua. Not because he was my favorite, but because he was my last. I knew this was my last chance to really savor baby moments, no matter how small. Plus I was older (though probably not any more mature). Little stinker Adam was in a predicament. He had gotten off the rug in the middle of the room and had pushed himself backwards. He was literally underneath my antique oak sideboard. His whole body was underneath with only part of his little head showing. He was desperately trying to right his direction and move forward. Each time his hands would try and propel him forward, he’d slide back further under the sideboard. Raised himself up to gain momentum, and bumped his head. Not hard enough to get hurt or cry out. Just hard enough to tick him off. As I watched (selfish mom, I didn’t want this to end) I remember praying to God: “please God, stop time for a little while. I don’t want him to grow one day older than he is right now. I’m never going to get to enjoy little things like this again. Please. Let Adam stay just like this a little while longer.” Of course God was too busy training the United States hockey team so they could annihilate those pesky professionals from Russia in the Olympics, so my little prayer went unanswered. But hey, USA, USA. That’s ok God, I understand. Still one of my happiest mom moments, the day Adam got stuck.

 

Stop smiling and help me mom. Adam, 1980..

 

Joshua played high school football. He loved it and was quite good. His team however was not very good and their record showed accordingly. I enjoyed watching him. His position was tight end/receiver. I can’t remember the exact date, maybe 1993, I believe Josh was a senior, and it was a home game. He had pulled a muscle in his butt or thigh during the game, and was limping once in a while. Still Josh was having a terrific game, catching some really great passes. I never needed to see his uniform number (90) when he was in the huddle. I merely looked at everyone’s legs and I recognized Joshua’s calves. We were in the stands sitting with a group of parents. One of the dads noticed Josh limping, and snidely commented, “geez, I wish Josh was hurt every week. He’s really having a good game!” I looked him squarely in the eye and said, “Bruce, you’re such an ass!” Yeah, I still remember that.

 

Joshua, 1993. Dude, nice calves …

 

I’ve talked about this before. When we moved to Michigan in 1987, Shannon was a sophomore. She was so far ahead of her class in most subjects (kudos to the Iowa educational system) Jackson didn’t have a lot of classes for her to choose from or take. She languished, cruising through some independent studies, finally taking classes at Jackson Community College during her senior (kudos to Jackson or the Michigan department of education cause we paid for none of these classes). As graduation time neared, Shannon told us there were 2 graduations. The regular one with her class of 350, and the Honors Graduation a couple of nights before. The Honors portion was held indoors, the regular outdoors in the football stadium. The Honors students numbered maybe 50 plus, thus was in the school’s theater with a small stage. The event was humbling as a parent, but one of my proudest moments. As they read Shannon’s name, they’d listed her accomplishments. To me, that list seemed to go on for quite a spell. I can still see her standing on stage as they read, and read. Ok, so maybe her PH.D. graduation class of 20 was a bigger deal, but my eldest during Honors High school graduation ranks right up there.

 

Shannon nearing graduation, ready for prom, 1988…

 

Watching my Dad’s face in 2006. One of the Muskegon Chronicle’s feature writers, Clayton Hardiman wrote a story about my Dad’s work and devotion with the inmates at the prison. And Dad was 89 years old. The day the paper came out I took a copy to his apartment. As I read it, there was a look of almost disbelief on his face. Like he couldn’t really comprehend this large article was about him. I’ll never forget that look. Didn’t last very long, but at that moment I admired his humbleness. Ten minutes later I was running around town buying every Chronicle copy (per Dad’s instructions) so he could literally send a copy to every person on the face of the earth he knew. Humbleness never lasted too long with Dad, but I was witness to it that day.

 

Dad in 2007, teaching a bible study at Hillcrest…

 

Not long ago, we went to a very fancy restaurant in Ann Arbor. I was perusing the menu (yikes, the prices) when I spotted it. Chef, Adam Van Berkum. Probably wasn’t kosher, but sneakily I slid my iPhone out and snapped a picture of his name on the menu. Best steak I’ve ever had. Not kidding. But it really was all about seeing his name.

 

The menu at The Chop House in Ann Arbor…

 

Joshua’s had his own business for over 15 years. Grown from 2 guys (him and Tim) doing literally everything, to several employees. They’ve shown huge growth spurt in the last decade. A couple of years ago, I spotted a testimonial clip from some of Motor City Technology’s satisfied customers. I didn’t know any of these folks. Business owners varying from construction companies to law firms. I don’t know why this had such an affect on me. I thought my heart would burst with pride. I know, my sobbing through the whole clip was a bit over the top.

 

Motor City Technology’s CEO, Joshua…

 

Shannon got her doctorate in 2008. Not many years later, she and 2 other therapists bought 2 houses which they converted into office space. The houses are charming and right next to each other. Now the same 3 gals have purchased another building because they keep expanding. But it was the first open house I remember. CEO Shannon and her partners cutting the ribbon. Which was nice. But it was the sign that remains firmly entrenched in the great moments for this mom. Dr. Shannon Lowder. Wow.

 

Shannon’s business, A Healing Place is still expanding…

 

So these are some of my biggies. Most are extremely happy memories when I think about them. I’ve completely skipped 4 incredibly important people who have caused more fantastic memories since they’ve come into my life. Don’t even get me started on my grands…

 

The super-duper grands clockwise, Ari, Peyton, Graham and Landon, 2014…

 

 

 

 

 

My Mom was a neat-nick. There was no clutter in our house. Her early American furniture was polished, hardwood floors dusted on hands and knees daily. Window washing was a weekly task, unless horrendous weather prevailed. She used some concoction with vinegar and newspapers to dry them. Because newspapers left no streaks.

 

Mom catching some rays in California, 1961…

That’s not to say our house was empty. Quite the contrary. She had a lot of stuff. She was a clothes horse. Every closet was full. But neat. Always neat. And she had several collections. Milk glass, cut crystal, blue Delft, Black Hills gold, turquoise and silver jewelry. Yet the house had a more of a minimalist look. Because she knew how to display, store and hide things. Which is why I shouldn’t have been surprised by anything I found after she passed away. It was up to me to go through every inch of the house, getting it ready to put on the market. We packed up what dad wanted to keep, doled some out to family members, donated a lot. I kept what I wanted and hauled it to Michigan.

 

Disneyland memorabilia, 1961…

 

But surprised I was. Not so much when I was doing all the decision making on what and what not to keep. I was on auto-pilot and didn’t have or take the time to really reminisce. Years later, even after Dad had passed away. The stacks of containers continued to grow and now they were all mine. Still not much was done. It wasn’t until our first move in over 20 years when the sheer magnitude of how much of their stuff I had. With wonder, I have been amazed at what my Mom saved.

 

Hand sized crate of orange bubblegum from Knott’s Berry Farm, 1961…

 

There are really only 2 meaningful things I was unable to locate when I went through their house. One was Larry’s baseball cards. Since Larry was born in 1946 and was died in 1958, his collection of baseball cards had to be freaking awesome. I hope he used the less famous player’s cards in his bike spokes to make cool noises when he rode. But the players like Mickey Mantle, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Ernie Banks, Sandy Kolfax were all rookies during the 1950’s. Alas the house held no baseball cards. I think Mom and Dad might have given them to one of his good friends.

 

With Dad’s sister Wilma’s family in California in 1961…

 

The other item I never found was one of my jackets. A special one I can’t imagine Mom would have thrown out. It was during our big California vacation, the summer of 1961. Larry had been gone for 3 years. Mona was married. We drove our 1958 Chevy, 2-door Canyon Coral Biscayne. All the way from Iowa, through the summer heat. Without air. Squished with 5 people. Mom and Dad in the front, 2 paying customers (an elderly neighbor and one of her grandchildren) and me (a high maintenance brat who really wanted the back seat all to herself), stuffed in the back. The trip was fabulous, once we got there. Our goal was visiting a lot of family. My Dad’s sister, Wilma, Mom’s only sib, twin brother Floyd, Mom’s uncle on the Berghuis side and some family friends.

Dad almost done taking down a building, mid’50’s…

 

We went to Knott’s Berry Farm, Disneyland, a Dodger’s game, and a trip to Tijuana, Mexico. While in Mexico, Mom bought me (I was 10) an exquisite wool jacket. It was red and had beadwork and sequins all over the jacket. The back was decorated with a very fancy sombrero. Mind you, from that trip Mom managed to keep the Dodger ticket stubs, a small stuffed (but very much alive at one time, kinda gross) alligator, a crate of orange bubblegum that resembled a crate of real oranges, and a newspaper with the Gerritson name in the headlines made at Knott’s documenting our visit there. But the jacket disappeared. How come it’s the one item I pine after? I would venture Mom gave it to someone with a daughter or granddaughter whom she worked with sometime after I outgrew it. Does not really sound like her though. She was always sentimental about my clothing and mementos. She never mentioned to me what happened to the jacket.

 

The plain 1958 Chevy Biscayne…

 

Do you know what I did find in a closet when I was packing up the house after it sold? Mom kept the dress I sewed in home economics class. I might have been in 8th or 9th grade. To me, the dress had complete failure written all over it. Mom thought it worthy of closet space, however. And in that old house of theirs, closet space was at a premium. I somehow managed to sew one of the dress sleeves on backwards. Three times. In desperation, my home ec. teacher, Miss Weiner finally plopped herself down at my sewing machine (my sewing machine is a term used loosely) and quickly sewed the sleeve on right. Miss Weiner’s way of ridding herself of this annoying girl who couldn’t sew. And could care less about sewing in any form.

 

My baby doll highchair, 1956…

 

When I was young Dad did odd jobs around Rock Valley. I think it was a 3-part equation. Money, he enjoyed putzing, and it got him out of the house. For a legitimate reason. He was often hired to take down a building. Not the building in Hawarden he was taking down when Larry was killed though. In this particular empty building was an old wicker doll buggy. He brought it home. The results of having that buggy in the house was 2-fold. Mom always said it was mine. But she never really let me play with it. I was no longer a toddler who would have run helter-skelter up and down the sidewalk. But I was a doll fanatic, and surely would have had it outside much of the time. Giving my babies rides. And maybe letting other kids run with it up and down the sidewalk too. She bought me a steel stroller and high chair for my babies, so I’d leave the wicker antique one alone. She did not trust me with my wicker stroller until I’d been married several years. Guess she also wanted my kids past the point of running it up and down the street. Thanks Mom. Because of your steadfast hope that I not ruin the buggy, it remains in pristine condition.

 

Wicker buggy with doll quilt Bessie Jacobs made for me, 1957…

 

My dolls. I don’t know exactly when the first Barbie doll was produced, believe it was late 1950’s, but I never had one. Mom bought me one fancy lady doll. From the Council Oaks store on Main Street. Council Oaks was a grocery store, but they had quite a few toys before Christmas. This doll had nylons with seams in the back and a fancy dress. And boobs. I’m pretty sure Mom put her on lay away and paid about fifty cents a week until Christmas.

 

My fancy lady doll from Council Oak store, about 1958…

 

Then I had a walking doll, named Cindy. She was not much smaller than me when I got her. She was supposed to walk along beside me. But she was a klutz. I figured it was because she couldn’t see properly and my Mom wouldn’t buy her glasses. So I cut her hair and bangs. I’ve not been able to find the white pinafore that goes over her faded blue dress since we moved. The whole thing was beautifully smocked. I took it off years ago when Shannon, much later Ari were little and played with her.

 

Cindy with very short bangs and missing her smocked pinafore, 1955…

 

My favorite doll was my baby doll. I had a bottle, rubber pants, and cloth diapers for her. She wet after I fed her. Mom had some seamstress gal make a bunch of clothes for her. I vividly remember heading to the variety store with some change clutched in my hand. The purpose of my shopping venture was to buy a bottle of Johnson & Johnson Baby Lotion. The pink stuff that smelled like a newborn. I believe they still make it. Honest, I would glop some on my little hands, and put it on my baby doll, Lori Jean. Do you want to know how long it takes to rub in lotion on a plastic/rubber doll? That lotion does not absorb very well in plastic. I’d just rub and rub, making enough friction to ignite her hair! But she was my baby and her plastic skin needed to be soft. She’s still soft after all these years. Thanks Johnson & Johnson.

 

Lori Jean with the soft plastic skin, 1956..

 

But there was something that Mom had saved that I had completely forgotten about. A tiny metal jewelry box, lined in red cloth. Bottom of it says Japan. Inside was my charm bracelet. What a delightful surprise! Just looking at the bracelet flooded me with so many memories. The tiny stagecoach with a tag from Estes Park, Colorado during a vacation in my mid teens. A charm pennant from the Rock Valley Rockets in orange and black, signifying my allegiance or something I got as a cheerleader. A tiny replica of a class ring. From Hubs. A charm that has my birthstone (December) in the middle. A flat disk with 2 intertwining hearts that declares, “going steady.” A rotary phone because talking on the phone was a teenage girls life. A key and a small heart. Aww. And a cross, anchor with a small heart and red stone in the center. Don’t remember what that’s about. But religion would be my guess. Even the bracelet is very nicely done. I probably bought it at De Vries’ Jewelry store. I loved going in there, talking to Mrs. De Vries with her silver and black hair. Mr. De Vries, who I remember as very tall would sometimes walk out from the back of the store. He had this magnifying eye piece thingy on the side of his glasses. Wow, something I hadn’t though about in decades. This has been such a neat trip down memory lane. Simply charming…

 

Rediscovering this brings a big smile….

I never thought much of this until now…

 

 

You’ve been waiting patiently for an update. I know. It’s just been a blah February slump. But it’s time to give you the latest information on the kid who’s a basketball whiz. And my grandson.

I’m anxiously awaiting his electrifying return to the court…

Seems like it’s been a year since I’ve reported any basketball news about Landon. (Drew to the rest of the world) should be making headlines again. Actually, it hasn’t been that long. He was instructed to wear a boot and use crutches for a stress fracture in his left foot for 4 weeks. Starting on January 9th. Right after his phenomenonal, season high 22 point game against Ann Arbor Skyline. As a 15 year old freshman.

It was hard for Landon (or any of us, really) to determine exactly how or if his foot was healing. For the past 2 years, the only time his left foot caused him a lot of pain was when he was doing amazing things on the basketball court. So, with the protection of wearing the boot and the help of crutches, his foot felt pretty darn good.

 

Friday’s opposing coach asking Landon when’s he going to be back lighting it up on the court?

 

Shannon and Tracey took him to the orthopedic specialist on February 5th. Landon assumed he would be cleared to play that same day. As if. Youth with optimism, you gotta love it. Pioneer was playing the other Ann Arbor “big” rivalry, Huron that night. Mom and dad tried to explain playing that soon however, was very unlikely. After having no weight bearing on his foot and his ankle immobilized, they couldn’t imagine he could just go out on the court and play strenuous basketball immediately.

First item of business, a new X-Ray. Good news. The stress fracture was healing. Bad news. It still had a ways to go. Landon was devastated. Looking at the big picture, it’s hardly a blip on the screen. But when you’re a 15 year old freshman who’s made the varsity basketball team in a humongous high school, and they’re smack dab in the middle of an undefeated basketball season, it’s a whole different ballgame. And when you’ve just started hitting your stride with that close knit group of guys, it’s the equivalent of a lifetime. Doc explained to Landon how the fracture had to be completely healed or he’d be facing surgery to repair it in the future. Maybe during his senior year instead. Plus thinking he might be able to jump back on the court was foolhardy at best. Good way to tear his ACL or break an ankle. Man, could this get any worse? Not much, in Landon’s opinion.

 

Landon sitting the bench in street clothes. But wearing a shoe finally, 2-12-16…

 

So this is what Doc proposed. Wear the boot another 2 weeks (piss, moan and groan). But now without the crutches. After one week, Landon could put on a shoe and go bootless for one hour a day, increasing the length of time each day. Following the second week, 2 more weeks of 5 days a week physical therapy. Pretty much sounded like 6 months sentence to Landon.

But he’s already done with week one. Friday night was the first game we’ve gone to since Landon’s been sidelined. He looked weird in street clothes, and used game time for his ‘out of boot experience.’ (More like 2 hours, but at least he was sitting through much of it). I tried to stay focused, but my mind wondered. There was no pitiful little notebook in my hand to track his stats. Around the 3 minute mark in the first quarter, I felt like crying. This was the usual time he went into the game. Geez, I’m as bad as he is about this injury. I know it could have been much more serious. Get a grip, gram.

 

All dressed up for his emcee gig at school…

 

When he went on the injured list, the Pioneers were 11-0 and ranked 5th in the state. They’ve lost 3 of their last 6 games. Still respectable at 14-3. Don’t know if Landon’s sitting on the sidelines has made a difference or not. Who am I trying to kid? Of course it’s made a difference. But I may not look at his play quite as objectively as I should. Deric is back on the court after breaking his ankle a few weeks before Landon’s stress fracture was finally diagnosed. He looked good and played well.

 

These guys! We were playing Bedford Kicking Mules! So the student section dressed like this…

 

Landon’s managed to stay busy during his recuperation. He was chosen to be the emcee at Pioneer for a program during Black History month. He looked positively fetching. Then he got a new “do” which also looks pretty darn cute. Decided maybe a new girl in his life might be a welcome distraction. Then promptly forgot about the one subject in school giving him trouble. Algebra. Ugh. Now dad’s been all over him like a cheap suit on that little issue. Landon’s been mentioned a couple times in the sports section of the Detroit Press. I kid you not. An article about Michigan’s top high school freshman, making big impacts on their respective basketball teams. Also, he was on some ESPN Twitter site that I can’t even begin to understand. I hope it doesn’t go to his head, but truthfully, it’s gone to mine.

 

Detroit Free Press, Jan. 18, 2016…

 

If the healing continues, and he breezes through therapy, studies a bit harder to get mom and dad off his case, Landon might play in a couple games before district tournament. This is driving me nuts, so I can just imagine what’s it’s doing to him. He looked fairly miserable during the game Friday night. Being a good team player comes other responsibilities too. Another lesson where he may have needed a refresher course. He’s a good student and a great kid. Just needs to focus on the big picture. As does his gram…

 

No, not a scar. Maybe a Nike swoosh???

 

I’ve touched on part of this story a couple of times since I’ve been blogging. How strongly I felt about motherhood. A compelling issue (barring any infertility complications) was when to have kids. I did not want to be an old mom, thus no kids after I turned thirty. You have to remember, I had yet to reach my 19th birthday. Sure is different 45 years later. Some gals don’t think about childbearing until their late 30’s or early 40’s. Even more important to me was not having my kids close together. Could not visualize maintaining my sanity if I had more than one child in diapers. I know this was not the norm, but I felt very strongly about it. Still do.

Shannon, about 5…

But spacing children does have some disadvantages. You now have this amazing 4 year old who is capable of reading, writing, doing her own laundry, and suddenly you start feeling the urge to have another baby. Back in comes the crib, bottles, diapers, (yes, real cloth ones from the Neanderthal age) for another 3 years. Can be a vicious cycle. Quite often when children are spaced 4 or more years apart, they aren’t very close to one another. Still, it was how I foresaw being the best mom I could be. Ready to send one off to kindergarten, when the house was filled with the sounds of a newborn.

 

Joshua 1, swinging while I hang up the sheets, 1976…

 

Add to the mix our little surprise package named Adam. Not exactly planned and at a time when I thought the baby paraphernalia had disappeared from the house forever. Adam wasn’t that far behind Shannon almost 9, and Joshua, 4-1/2, but we didn’t think we could or would have any more kids. We are thankful every day since he joined our family. But we also didn’t want any more. Family finances were tight on one income. Braces, corrective shoes, constant doctor’s bills and prescriptions. We could only afford one car for the first 2 decades of marriage. Meaning many days, I was car-less and stuck at home. Then there were 3 future college educations to fret about. It was with no regret that I had a tubal ligation the day after Adam was born in 1979. This was a couple months before I celebrated my 29th birthday.

 

Adam 1, enjoying his first Oreo, 1980…

 

I packed school lunches, mostly because we couldn’t afford 3 hot lunch tickets. Peanut butter and jelly, fruit, chips, juice boxes, and something homemade for dessert. Brownies, banana bars, chocolate chip, peanut butter, or oatmeal cookies, pumpkin bread. From the time I finally learned how to bake, there has been baked goods in our house. Always.

 

Davenport, 1984. Josh 9, Adam 5, Shannon 13…

 

Shannon’s appetite I would deem normal. Although for years she could eat her weight in Cheetos. (Not the soft ones) Some gene she inherited from my Mom, who loved them too. Shannon never gained an ounce, probably because she off-set her daily salty snack with 3 oranges. She could eat oranges until the inside of her mouth had canker sores. They she’d have to lay off the citrus for a few days, consuming something other than foods orange in color. She was our fussiest eater. She never really cared for meat. The rest of us couldn’t get enough beef, pork or turkey.

 

Cut out cookie for holidays. I’ve made them since 1975…

 

It started about the time Joshua was in middle school, Adam, early elementary. The moment they jumped off the bus, I could hear their stomachs growling. Ravenous, to the point of nibbling each other’s arms. This trumped up, over the top, steroid type appetite hit my boys early. Eager to get home, they would happily consume a four-course meal as their after school snack. Impatiently waiting another 2-1/2 endless hours before a nice home cooked supper. Which they devoured like they hadn’t seen one morsel of food for 3 days. Where did they put all that food? Both bordered on scrawny. They just couldn’t seem to get enough to eat. Ever.

 

Cold lunch or after school snack, Hunt’s pudding cups…

 

So this mom had now made them some sort of breakfast, although many times it was a variety of cold cereals, which they loved, or those little packs of instant oatmeal (peaches and cream, apple-cinnamon) which they could never eat just one. Try 3. Sometimes I’d make French toast, they might have pop tarts (gross), or toast and jam. But pancakes, eggs and waffles were weekend breakfast family fare. As they were heading out to the bus, I’d hand out their cold lunches. Sometimes in brown bags, some years in fancy lunch pails. Josh still has his Dukes of Hazzard lunch box.

 

Josh took a Dukes of Hazzard lunch box to school, early ’80’s…

 

Two meals down, 2 to go. Yes, that’s 4 a day, besides after supper snacks while we watched TV, or a rented movie. It was an unusual day when I did not have a big supper planned. I cooked every night, but Friday. Which was usually pizza from Little Caesar’s. John would pick up a couple on his way from work. We saved big bucks by eating them at home, because we didn’t have to buy everyone drinks. We always had pop in the house. And as bad as it sounds, we had pop quite often with our supper. If our supper included potatoes or anything with gravy, the boys knew they were doomed. Josh would yell out, ever hopeful he was wrong, “hey Ma, is this milk meal? Or can we have pop?”

 

Potato salad not their favorite, but it was a pop meal….

 

One of the kids main complaints about supper was chicken. And I really wasn’t a huge chicken fan. But John had a favorite meal he could eat every week. At least once. Barbecued chicken on the grill. With a side of veggies and potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil. Didn’t matter if it 92 degrees in the shade or 16 below, he’d be happy as a pig in mud if he could plop a couple of cut up chickens, on the grill. I believe none of the kids ever liked that meal. Hubs could gnaw his way through all the worthless, throw away pieces. Necks, backs, wings. Being the youngest of 5 kids when he was growing up, by the time the platter of chicken got to him, those were the only pieces left. But besides chicken on the grill or meatloaf, (how is it possible that not one of them like meatloaf?) I rarely had complaints about my supper menu.

 

Josh and Adam would make their own box after school in the ’80’s…

 

Some of their favorite supper meals were tacos, spaghetti, stroganoff, tuna casserole, goulash, wild rice with pork chops, or chops on the grill. Although Josh and Adam were 4-1/2 years apart, and were quite close, they parted ways when it came to leftovers of their favorite meals. Now this would be called ‘Extreme Sibling Rivalry Hiding Favorite Foods Sport.’ We’ve always had a second fridge in the basement or garage for extra pop, milk, eggs, beer, night crawlers. After supper, I’d divide up any leftovers, rationing them in small containers. When it came to their favorites, one or the other would wait until I had just clicked off the kitchen light (this, after both came in while I was still cleaning up, complaining that they were still hungry! Are you fricking kidding me? I don’t have the kitchen cleaned up from your last hour of grazing!)

 

Yeah, I should have bought Chef Boyardee stock…

 

Back to the their rather odd leftover obsession. If supper consisted of their favorite foods, both of them wanted ALL the leftovers. But not as much as they wanted the other one NOT to have any. Honestly, I can’t tell you how many times (hundreds) I found a tub of leftover spaghetti, cheesecake, or stroganoff covered in mold. Snugly hidden underneath the lettuce, or way back in a drawer 3 months later. All because Adam didn’t want Josh to eat it or the other way around. But they also had forgotten about it. So they both missed out on numerous leftovers because it was a sad day in the life if one got a leftover helping of spaghetti, but there was none for the other.

 

No leftovers to fight about. Josh and Adam feeling the love, 1984…

 

After coming up with 3 meals a day for 5 people on a tight budget, I threw in the towel for their after school smorgasbord. Simply did not have the mindset in place to fix that 4th meal for them daily. It needed to be quick, easy, somewhat nutritious, and filling. Easy enough for each to do themselves, without making a sink full of dishes. (Nope, I had no dishwasher until I’d been married 25 years. Now I’ve had 2 and never use it) Josh and Adam could each eat a complete box of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Well, there’s 2 pans dirty. At the time, they cost about a quarter a box.

 

Adam loved American squirt cheese…

 

Frozen 8″ pizzas from Totino’s kept in the freezer by the dozen. Bags of Hot Pockets. Most of what they ate could be microwaved. The food industry was just recognizing this after school eating phenomenon. Now boxed in containers with a foam cover, making it easy to nuke it, without dumping it in another dish. Adam was crazy about clam chowder soup that came in green foam bowls. Josh preferred Chef Boyardee mini ravioli, or spaghetti and meatballs (an insult to this mom since I make the best spaghetti sauce in the world). Both Josh and Adam doctored their ravioli, putting half in a bowl, topped with a slice of American cheese, then the rest of the can. Heat it, stir it up, changing the red marinara sauce to a orangey, cheesy sauce. Sprinkle Parmesan on top and it was good for the main course. Adam could squirt half a can of Easy Cheese, spraying it right in his mouth. Ugh. Then a Hostess Twinkie, Cupcake, Snoball, sometimes Little Debbie. Which might keep them full until supper a couple hours later.

 

The kids loved homemade goodies, but had to have Hostess in the house too…

 

Outside to run off all that food. They seldom stayed in after school. While Shannon would hit the books when she breezed through the door, the boys would not. Their homework issues would have to be forced on them after supper. Now Shannon was done with her homework and chores, if she had extra curricular activities she was good to go. But the boys were much younger and did not have a lot of extra activities at night yet.

 

Josh and Adam running off their after school meal, 1987…

 

All the kids loved when I got groceries. Shannon and Adam would forage through their favorite cupboards, checking out what I had gotten. Joshua, on the other hand had a quirky habit of his own to find out what I had and hadn’t brought home from the store. He’d read my Meijer receipt like it was a top 10 bestseller. Memorizing exactly what I bought. He’d worry about finding everything later. I don’t know about you, but there weren’t many hiding spots in our house, basement or garage. They always knew where everything was. Doesn’t mean that would help much if my keys were misplaced. But if I tried to hide a good box of candy? Forget it. They could sniff that out before the cellophane was off…

 

 

 

 

The recent hype surrounding the saga of the Star Wars franchise has me reminiscing about my lifelong fascination with the movies. Something that started when I was a little kid. I can loosely compare it to eating the forbidden fruit in the garden. Because I was not allowed to go to the movies, hence, they have been irresistible to me ever since.

 

Holy spit curls! This is what happened after viewing my first horror movie, 1960…

I’ve never been a huge TV nut. I wasn’t raised watching much television. I remember watching Captain Kangaroo, and Howdy Doody. Some Saturday morning cartoons. A highlight of a grade school year was when you managed to get on the afternoon show, live from Sioux Falls, called Captain 11. Yeah, that was a biggie.

 

Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Greenjeans and sidekicks, mid-1950’s…

 

When Larry died in 1958, Dad had a huge transformation. He accepted the Lord as his Savior. And went way over the top. Mom’s and my life changed too because of Dad’s life changing deal breaker. Dad was now gone several nights a week doing the Lord’s work. Mom and I were left at home, each of us not knowing how to deal and heal from losing Larry. We’d watch a couple of programs together. Combat, Rawhide, Have Gun Will Travel, Whirlybirds, Wagon Train. Mom making us a bowl of popcorn. In a small frypan on our gas stove. Shaking it back and forth, me listening to the kernels pop. The incredible smell filling the quiet house on 15th street. Melting real butter, plus a couple shakes of salt. And the best part. Pop. Diet Rite, RC Cola. We always had pop in the house.

 

Actors that portrayed Gil Hanley and Chip Saunders in Combat, 1962…

 

But now Dad frowned on TV, even more so about theater movies. I don’t know if it was the Hollywood lifestyle that had him believing they were going to hell. Or just that I was headed to hell if I watched them. When I started blogging, one of my first posts was about sneaking into the movies. Not without paying. But going to the movies. My little Iowa, farming community had its own theater on Main Street when I was young. Not always easy to sneak in unnoticed. You’d be surprised how many adults would squeal about me to Dad, if they observed me going into the show. Or doing anything else questionable in their eyes. Really, it was pretty hard to get by with anything that was not witnessed by someone. And this without cell phones. Although not impossible. There were a couple of times my name should have been front and center in the usual line of suspects, but until I confessed in my blog posts, many of my indiscretions were not known by the masses. Yay Neese. Stealing a car, (borrowing really, we brought it back, unscathed a couple hours later, minus half a tank of gas) and painting the side of a building were two where I should have gotten into pretty big trouble. Those incidents came later in my life of crime, and nobody ratted me out.

 

Neese needed teddy bear comfort after watching Mr. Sardonicus…

 

The first movie to have a major impact in the Life of Neese was called Mr. Sardonicus. The scene practically set itself. Northwest Iowa was in the middle of a blizzard of epic proportions. Not an uncommon winter occurrence. Dad worked for the State Hiway Commission. During snow storms, he’d get several hours overtime, driving the snow plow from Rock Valley, west to the South Dakota border near Canton, east to the Sheldon overpass which was high, wicked and very dangerous. Or south on Hiway 75 towards Sioux City. I begged, pleaded, whined, and ‘zhanicked’ (begged, pleaded, whined in Dutch, only a bit more dramatic) for Mom to let me go to the movies that night while Dad was hard at work.

 

Dad driving a snowplow, while I was sinning at the movies, 1960…

 

The theater was 2 blocks from our house. No way we would have school the next day. The snow was past my knees already. Mom caved. Unfortunately, I had done no research on the only movie showing that night. Siskel and Ebert weren’t invented yet. So I happily, but unknowingly, trudged through the deep snow to my first (and last) horror movie. Holy Hanna. Scared the shit out of this 10 year old. The short review. Married couple discover their winning lottery ticket was in the suit coat pocket of the husband’s recently deceased father. Wife insists he retrieve that ticket. Once the coffin is dug up, Sonny takes one look at the gruesome facial expression on Pop’s face and splits. Wifey sends him back for that winning ticket. Go on, Dipstick. This time when he returns, hubby’s facial features are in the same distorted, macabre frozen position as dead Daddy. In a nutshell. Yikes. Since that fateful night, I still click the remote to another station when a door creaks on TV.

 

My then 10 yr old eyes still see Mr. Sardonicus in my nightmares…

 

Once I got a bit older, bolder, and sneakier, movies were part of my high school days. Not as often in Rock Valley, though. There were some incredible, magnificent movie theaters in Sioux City and Sioux Falls. Downtown buildings with winding staircases 10 feet wide. Stunning architecture I barely noticed back in the 60’s. For this small town girl, some of these films were a real life education. The seducing wiles of an older woman with a much younger guy in The Graduate. (but true love wins) My first experience learning about homosexuals in Midnight Cowboy. My undying love for all things Steve McQueen and Paul Newman. Bullitt, Thomas Crown Affair, Papillion, The Getaway. Newman in Cool Hand Luke, Butch Cassidy, The Sting. The Towering Inferno which starred both of them.

 

Heart throb Steve McQueen, 20 years my senior. I’d have followed him to the ends of the earth…

 

Not all movies had teaching moments for this naive chick. But they remain firmly entrenched in my head. Usually because one scene hit me hard then and has stuck. The Witness, with Harrison Ford and Kelly McGillis. City slicker cop (Harrison) has to protect an Amish widow (Kelly) and her young son who witnessed a murder. In MY scene, Harrison is falling for the widow, and the feeling is mutual. Harrison is walking through her house. Kelly is undressing, the door is ajar. Their eyes meet in the mirror. The forbidden longing, lust and love their faces convey in that single glance still makes my tummy flip.

 

When we were living on the farm, 40 miles from Cedar Rapids in the mid-’70’s, there was a Mel Brooks movie called, Young Frankenstein. I don’t believe I’ve ever laughed that hard, though Blazing Saddles came close. Weeks later, I’d think about Marty Feldman saying, “werewolf!” Gene Wilder asking “werewolf?” Marty answering, “there wolf, there castle.” Or Wilder looking at the castle’s mammoth doors, exclaiming, “what a set of knockers!” Terri Gar answers shyly, “thank you.”

 

Young Frankenstein stars, Feldman, Wilder and Gar…

 

Diane Keaton in Baby Boom, as a single, ambitious New Yorker whose cousin passes away and literally leaves Diane her baby girl. Diane is not mom material and seriously considers giving the baby up for adoption. In MY scene, the baby has been sick and up all night. Diane has walked, or rocked her and both are near exhaustion. Both Baby and Diane fall asleep, with baby on Diane’s chest. One of the most poignant scenes ever. I sob every time.

 

Diane Keaton in Baby Boom…

 

Or my favorite romantic comedy. Notting Hill. Julia Roberts plays a superstar (now there’s a stretch) who’s in London. She goes into a book store owned by Hugh Grant. Instant attraction. But they are from such different worlds. After flirting, an affair and numerous problems getting in their way, Julia walks into the book store (in flip flops, gotta love it) says to Hugh, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her!” So romantic and heartfelt. I bawled my eyes out. As an added bonus, Rhys Ifans plays Hugh’s roommate, Spike. He steals several scenes and is absolutely hilarious. In grungy underwear.

 

Julia asking for Hugh’s heart…

 

Even during our first, oh-so-broke years of marriage, John and I managed to see a few movies. We watched The Godfather at South Sioux City’s, Gordon Twin Drive Inn. Couldn’t afford a babysitter, making it necessary to haul our adorable 2-1/2 year old, Shannon along. In our 1972 green Chevy Vega. Embarrassing to admit that. Not that we took a toddler to a very adult themed movie. That we owned a Vega. We loaded the car with goodies and enough blankets, pillows to make a bed in the hatchback for our precocious little diva. She assured us, she would sleep in the car. Right. Next thing we hear out of her is, “why is that man sleeping with a horse? Where’s the rest of the horse, daddy?” Probably the reason she became a therapist.

 

Looks like Shannon suffered no ill effects from The Godfather…

 

Forty years ago, I started reading The TV guide and People Magazine, faithfully. Nosy and loved learning what was going on in Hollywood. That inquisitiveness has waned the last few years. Many of the stars I enjoy watching on the big screen feel because the make millions in movies, they also know what’s best for me in the world of politics. Please, shut your mouth unless it’s a movie script. The trivia about Hollywoood and their stars stuck though. Twenty years ago when the kids were in college, I’d regularly receive phone calls from one of them, which sounded something like this. “Mom, what was the movie where the secret service guy’s job was…” “Umm, Guarding Tess, with Nicolas Cage and Shirley McClaine,” I’d answer quickly. Not only has most of that information seeped from my head (no, not song lyrics yet) I’ve been replaced by Google. My services of useless tidbit information, no longer required.

 

Brad Davis as Billy Hayes in Midnight Express, 1979…

 

The movie that struck me with the biggest impact happened in Spencer, Iowa. The spring of 1979. I was pregnant with Adam. Hubs and I went to the theater downtown. The movie was, Midnight Express. Based on a true story starring Brad Davis as Billy Hayes. Billy is caught at the airport in Istanbul, Turkey, trying to smuggle hashish out of the country. Tried and sentenced for 30 years to life in a gruesome prison. What he endured was horrifying. After a few years, his girlfriend smuggles him some money to help buy an escape, cause he’s not getting out any other way. Billy’s nemesis is a sadistic guard with the intention of raping Billy. Billy accidentally kills him before the deed. Billy quickly puts on the guards clothing and calmly walks out of prison. Makes his way to Greece and back to New York a few weeks later. For some reason, this movie still haunts me almost 4 decades later. I wonder if any movies have made a huge impact on other people’s lives like they have on mine…

 

 

 

 

I complained a lot by the time we finally moved east in 2015. Our lives were thrust in turmoil from the moment we put the house on the market in mid-2012. It was like our house wasn’t ours anymore, but it was. Uneasy about letting any clutter lie around, beds unmade, or plan a big day of canning. We constantly had to be ready to show the house. Even less like our house after we rented a storage unit and packed a third of our belongings for what we thought would be 90 days. Try 1,200 days. Ugh. Why it took 3 years to sell a nifty lake home still puzzles me.

Our house in North Muskegon for 21 years…

There were advantages to renting that dang storage unit. We stored massive furniture pieces in it, giving our house a less cluttered, more open look. I’d pine over the spot where each piece had resided for 18 years. But it was the 2 rows of plastic tubs, all neatly stacked to the ceiling that simply oozed out of my memory bank.

 We went through quite a few of the tubs when it became apparent the house sale was actually a reality. This was our first move in 20 years, and the first one where we’d be doing all the work of packing. And paying for it ourselves. Ouch. We needed to lighten our load. Didn’t do such a hot job in that department. Then the stark realization we could not keep everything. We wanted/needed to downsize. We hadn’t used several rooms of our house for years but there a disloyal feeling about selling a favorite antique, only to discover it’s just the size and would fit our new house perfectly. So we paid the movers to load 14,000 pounds of our belongings. This after we’d seriously gotten rid of a boatload of stuff.

 

This gorgeous piece I’ve only had 15 years so it had to go…

We bought a home a thousand square feet smaller and the movers unloaded everything in the house, basement and garage. We barely had room to walk. I moved, swapped, wrung my hands over pieces that just weren’t going to work. I kept telling myself, “it’s just stuff Neese, let it go.” So I’ve come to terms with what will and won’t work and I’m ok with that. I’ve managed to find spots for most of my favorites. The kids will take the rest or we’ll sell a few things. But to my surprise, one of the best parts of that annoying storage unit was finding some small, unexpected treasures.

Our much smaller house…

After my Mom passed away in 2004, Dad lived in their house another 4 months. It sold, and I had a week to pack, save or give away their stash of belongings. Dad and Mom had lived there for 50 years. My sister Mona and her 3 kids took quite a bit. The rest was for me and our children. Since Dad was moving to Michigan, he kept whatever he wanted for his new apartment. Which was added to my stuff after he passed away 3 years later. That’s really how I got bogged down with all these containers. I couldn’t keep up with the deaths and moves. Easier to ignore the stacks.

 And that’s exactly why it’s been such a trip to go through these containers. I had to toughen up a bit when it hit I couldn’t keep everything. It was that or rent another storage unit. When I was agonizing over decisions I did not cave often. John tried to hurry me along, he thought I’d say, “heck, just haul it to Goodwill.” I used my outside voice and firmly stated, “dude, no way I’m getting rid of that. Maybe in a year, but for now, it stays.” Then he’d start whining, “we aren’t going to have a bunch of tubs just taking up space. Are you absolutely sure you really need this?” “Give it up John, I’m not selling or giving that away. Period.”

 

Dad was a lay minister, preaching at prisons and Gospel missions. I’ve saved his sermons.

For several weeks Hubs brought in containers from the garage. Knick-knacks I didn’t remember until I spotted them again. I have a dozen beautiful paper weights. (I thought I had 4). Now my bookcases are cluttered with too many things on shelves but it’s almost like getting new stuff cause I hadn’t seen it for 4 years. The items I kept is everything that was my brother Larry’s. He was killed in 1958 at age 12, while riding his bike. I was 7 and worshipped him.

 

 Mona, me and Larry in 1953…

I call them Larry’s treasures. They mean more to me than all my antiques and collectibles combined. Sometimes I wonder why Mom kept certain things from him and not others. A pair of his swimming trunks, blue jeans, and one shirt. His baseball glove, pop gun, bubblegum machine, and billfold with most of his classmates pictures inside. Guess they were from 6th grade or maybe they had already gotten their 7th grade pictures back. That stuff I don’t wonder about and I’m glad Mom kept what she did.

Larry’s pop gun…

Here’s one of the more curious items I just found. The soft, thin string is very yellow with age. It had so many knots I truly thought about cutting it apart. But I really wanted to save it as original as possible. The trinkets attached to the string looked chintzy. For 45 minutes I painstakingly worked to untangle the mess. Careful to keep them in the same order Larry had put them on 65 years ago. A mish-mash of plastic, or metal looking tiny objects. I can only compare it to a girl’s charm bracelet or necklace-tough boy style. Since he passed away in ’58, they all date before that. Hubs offered his opinion as I was removing them one by one. He thinks they’re from Cracker Jacks boxes. One is a zodiac sign of Virgo that resembles a coin. A couple of dogs, bowling pins, gun, stagecoach, skull, plastic safety pin. And on the very end is a good sized nail. I didn’t even take that apart. It had a nice knot and wasn’t tangled up. I couldn’t imagine why a nail would be on the end. Uncomfortable if he carried this around in his pocket. John ventured he thought Larry hung it up somewhere. Using the nail. Hmmm.

 

So I’ve dedicated a couple of shelves in an antique oak bookcase for some of Larry’s and my old stuff. For me, part of a baking set with tiny cookie cutters, a jello mold, kaleidoscope, wooden rolling pin, stuffed animals. A little plaid pup that Larry gave me for Christmas. Although you’ve been gone a long time, not a day has passed when I haven’t thought about you Larry. Not as long as I live. Love ‘ya big brother…

 

 

I can hear it now. You’re all going to blame me. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. Looking back though, I might have been a bit hasty with my last post, called The Freshman. But hey, I was excited about the terrific December he and his team had just finished. Ok, so I got caught up in the moment. But as the rest of the story unfolds, I’m sure you’ll find me completely blameless.

 

Landon, number 3, going in for a layup…

Let me catch you up. It really all started about 2 years ago. My 15 year old grandson, Landon (Drew to the rest of the world) had a sore foot. His left foot. A nagging pain when he played hard, changed directions or pivoted on the basketball court. Over the last 2 years he’s seen his pediatrician, a podiatrist, had shoe inserts, been taped, x-rays, you name it. But not one of them could find the cause for Landon’s foot pain.

Did the pain in his foot ever halt his play on the basketball court? Surely you jest. Nope, this kid just played through the discomfort. But it never went away. So, mom, dad and Landon continued to look for answers on what was troubling this growing foot on my fantastic grandson, the ball player.

 

Landon guarding, disrupting Skyline’s player…

 

Shannon had a day long commitment with Governor Snyder’s Task Force back in December. Tracey had just gone through knee replacement surgery and wasn’t able to drive yet. So I was tagged to take Landon, his most recent x-rays, and tests results to an orthopedic specialist in Jackson.

His appointment was at 9:15. I love morning appointments. I optimistically assume since it’s so early, how far behind can the office/Doctor possibly be? We waited and waited. Landon was the youngest one in the office by about 5 decades. One of the patients ahead of him was a 90 year old lady who insisted on filling out all the forms herself. I love these little independent women. Except she could not remember any medications, dates of injuries, surgeries, not much of anything pertaining to her upcoming visit. She was also stone deaf, and ended up asking her daughter every single question from the four sheet form. Loudly. I’m profoundly deaf, and I heard all the information on the last 50 years of her health issues that morning. I’m glad Landon was on the ball. He had his phone along. Texted his mom with questions about his medications and dates.

 

Something he’s always excelled in, his passing ability…

 

We finally get called back and sit in a room to wait some more. When the doctor finally makes an appearance, (he’s wearing an identical Polo shirt that Landon owns. Only about 3 sizes bigger) and he’s full of questions. About Tracey, knee surgery, basketball and life in general. I didn’t realize the doc went to Jackson High with Shannon and Tracey. He was a couple years ahead of Shannon, as was Tracey, though Tracey and Shannon are the same age. T graduated at age 16. Anyway, he finally got to the reason we were there. The foot problem. I saw and sympathized during the wincing pain on Landon’s face as Doc manipulated his foot. Asked a lot of questions, looked at his recent x-rays, and said he thought it was time for an MRI. Ventured it could be a stress fracture, cyst or something completely different.

 

He’s got some growing to do. Look at those feet???

 

Nothing else for us to do that day. We got some lunch and I hustled him to school for a half day cause his appointment took so long. Shannon called to set up the MRI appointment during Christmas break. Landon continued to practice and play basketball. His team, the Ann Arbor Pioneers, were doing phenomenal. Hadn’t lost yet. Landon, the only freshman on Varsity was getting quite a few playing minutes. And scoring some points.

Christmas break is over, school’s back in session, the basketball season is back on the court. Shannon and Landon have an appointment to get the results of the MRI. She calls after they leave the office. It’s official. A stress fracture. Bummer. He needs a boot, crutches and 4 weeks of rest for his left foot.

 

Umm, yes, he can be pretty intense on the court…

 

The doctor’s appointment was on a Friday, a couple hours before one of Pioneer’s biggest rivalry opponents. No doubt about it, Landon wanted to play, then tell his coach. The timing is actually pretty good. He might only miss 4 games because they have 2 Tuesday’s off in January. Shannon and Tracey decide to let him play. After all, he’s been playing basketball year round with this discomfort for over 2 years.

What a game. This is the same team they played in December when “he’s a freshman, he’s a freshman” was screamed by the student section as he went on to score 14 points. (And the student body continued this tradition that night). But 14 isn’t even close to the game he was about to have. At age 15.

 

The Rowdy Bunch during game against Skyline. Coach Rex in white shirt…

 

Landon goes in about midway through the first quarter, and plays 9 minutes of the first half. He makes his first shot, a jumper, then a lay up. Two 3 pointers follow for 10 in the half. Never missed a shot and had one foul. Goes in at the 3 minute mark of the 3rd quarter. Does not score in the period, but causes all kinds of headaches for one of Skyline’s main shooters.

It’s during the 4th quarter where Landon would really shine. He’s always been a very disciplined player. (His only waver is a bit of trash talking once in a while. Not to worry, I’m on it) He practices A LOT. This is where all that practice comes to fruition. Crunch time. First he has a nifty layup. So his total stands at 12. Although Pioneer had lead by more than 20 points at times, the big lead has dwindled. With time running down, Skyline needs the clock to stop. How does a team do that? By fouling Pioneer and hoping they miss at the line. Unfortunately for Skyline, they had to foul a superb point guard with the name of Landon Lowder (ok, so most scream Drew, but not this gram. If anything, I’m consistent). Towards the end of the 4th quarter, they fouled him 5 times. How many points did the Pioneers get out of Landon standing on the free throw line? Ten freaking points people. Ten, I tell you. Does he stand at the foul line and go through all kinds of crazy rituals? Nope. Just bounces it once, throws it up and swishes it through. Over and over. Ten points in free throws. Twelve for the half. High scorer for the game with 22.

 

Oh yeah baby, he’s making his move…

 

Landon was interviewed at length by a sports writer from the Ann Arbor News for the paper last Sunday. Reading the article and the blog his coach writes after every game was misleading though. Both indicated Landon had recently hurt his foot. This injury was not recent at all. One of the neatest comments I read in the blog about Landon’s game was this: “at crunch time, a freshman with ice water in his veins at the free throw line!”

 

My rather lame attempt keeping Landon stats…

 

So last Saturday morning, Landon started sporting a boot and crutches. Sigh. It has to be done. They didn’t have a game on Tuesday. We didn’t go to Friday nights game either. Sure I want Pioneer to win, but without the lure of watching Landon hustle up and down the court during the game, it’s just not the same for this gram. Shannon texted me throughout. Pioneer struggled more than they should have, and although Landon’s not a starter, where Deric is, they are now missing 2 key players in their lineup. But the Pioneers pulled it out for their 11th win with no losses. Landon goes back to the orthopedic doctor the 1st of February. Deric might be out a little longer than that. The big game with their other town rivalry is this Friday night. And I hear Huron has a pretty good team.

 

Landon has stepped up his defense…

 

I have a couple stories in my head trying to break free. But at least for the next few weeks, no basketball stories about the amazing Landon. You’ll have to be content with the boring early Neese years…