Think I might be near the finish line resolving an issue that’s been bothering me for 5 years. Quite an amazing feat since my list of irritants rambles on like the side effects of the latest and greatest drug commercial. Twenty seconds how this new wonder drug will cure everything that ails you. Followed by 90 seconds of stern warnings: buyer beware, taking this medication may cause deep depression-or worse. Yikes.

Someone actually got a picture of me by Lake Michigan…

Around 2012, my beloved job as Parish Visitor (visiting the homebound, nursing homes, and assisted living facilities) was starting to taking a toll. The deaths of these dear folks were mounting faster than I could grieve and process them, averaging about one a month. Top it off, I was working for a less than ideal boss, the 4th in a row. Let’s just leave it at that. There might be some issues I’ve yet to work through, but this is progress. See, I’m making great strides.

Charlie & Opal, a couple I visited for years…

John had retired a couple of years before, and I was ready to join the ranks. But that decision brought more questions than answers. The rest of our family were grouped near the eastern side of the state, but Hubs and I were on the west coast of Michigan. In a 2 story home, on a lake. In essence, our house was the only thing holding us there. Easy-peasy, sell the house and move closer to the kids. Hold on there little doggie. This is where the irritant became a full-fledged allergic reaction. Our nice house, on a cool lake, in a snooty town, would not sell.

Three long years. 3. I still don’t know why. We had serious lookers, offers, but deals fell through. After a 6 month hiccup with an awful realtor, we hired Mary Jamison, a go-getter extroadinaire. Can’t fault her for one solitary thing, yet it took 2 more years to find the right buyer. During this time, I grew to hate the house. The nicest house I’ve ever lived in or owned. No longer enjoyed the lake view, the town or area. I just didn’t want to be there anymore. But I was stuck. And miserable.

You remember the story about the gal I grew really close to after her husband passed away in 2005? It’s called, The Name Game, March 2015, if you want to read it, but here’s a short recap. Kent (his real name was Raymond) finally got released from a long stint in a local hospital. The preacher and chaplain visited him there regularly, but when he got home, he was added to my parish visitor list. I was shocked to meet him and his wife Joann, (her real name-Marilyn) because they weren’t much older than me! Sometimes you have a special connection with certain folks, Kent was one of mine. After Kent passed away, Joann and I became really close friends. We both are positive Kent was pleased and proud to be the conduit bringing us together. Jo (not enough to be Joann, alias-Marilyn, then I had to go and shorten her name) and I met 2 or 3 times a week, most often for breakfast, sometimes lunch. She had been Kent’s caregiver for several years and her grief was enormous after 47 years of marriage.

Raymond alias Kent in his prime…

Jo and I met at eating places near my visiting area for the day. Chili’s, Bob Evans, Steak ‘N Egger, Toast ‘N Jams, or we’d pick up Jimmy Johns sandwiches, head down to the Ovals. Watch Lake Michigan waves, one of my favorite things to do. Pretty much became regulars at these restaurants. We frequented Chili’s and Toast ‘N Jams most often because the bulk of folks I visited were in this neighborhood, so we got to know the staff.

I have not gone back very often since we moved away. I was so happy to finish that chapter, that whole section of my life still tasted very bitter. I am able to hold a grudge, real or imagined for eternity it seems. It surely was not the fault of a house, small town, or large area that caused my house to stall when trying to sell. Yet somehow I blamed all 3 for exactly that. Put them in my dislike box.

Hubs was heading up north for the weekend about a month ago. I was planning on taking a Saturday class at Baker College on caregiving for infants. But I procrastinated too long. I called the day before the deadline, but the gal in charge was off. I left a message, stating my class preferences. She, in turn left a message for me the following day. Sorry, the class is already full, try again next year. Shoot. I decided if Jo was not busy for the weekend, I’d go to Muskegon for a visit.

A gorgeous view, but not missing it…

Jo did not have plans and seemed thrilled at the prospect of a weekend freeloader. (She’s really a wonderful friend). I was leaving after work, and needed to stop in Grand Rapids on the way to Muskegon, so warned her it would be at least 7 before I’d show up. If that was too late to go out for supper together, I was fine with stopping somewhere for a quick sandwich, but she assured me it would be great to get a pizza somewhere after I got to town. The destination causing this hold up? Vander Veen’s Dutch Store. Since it’s Dutch, definitely not open on Sunday, the only other time I would be driving through Grand Rapids. A neat little gem of a store. The walls are loaded with Blue Delft pieces, open weaved laces, and bold colored tulip and windmill themed dish towels. Dutch peppermints, licorce, milk chocolate letters, and bobalars line the shelves. Dried beef, assorted meats, cheeses in the meat case. A small stand alone freezer with Almond Patties and Pigs in the Blanket from Casey’s Bakery in Sioux Center, Iowa! Huh? I’ve lived in Michigan 30 years and discovered this place 1 year ago. Woe is me. Look at the time (note: Almond Patties and Dried Beef) I could have been eating regularly.

These little buggers were so hard to find…

But I did not need dried beef or almond patties. The goal of this out-of-my-way-store this time was the lowly pea. Not a snow, snap, fresh, pod, sugar, black eyed, or split. I needed peas. Whole dried peas. Hubs and I were hungry for pea soup, and there was a hunk of ham in the freezer just waiting to simmer and fall off the bone. But I’d been unable to find whole dried peas. Meijer (the store usually able to fill all my baking, canning, cooking needs) only sells split dried peas. I don’t know how anyone else makes pea soup, (or if anyone else does. Not one of my kids will eat it), but in the Gerritson household when I was a kid, Mom used 1 pound of whole, dried peas that she had soaked over night. Added about 3 ounces of split peas, otherwise it got too mushy according to her.

Hard to describe the taste, but I love this hard candy…

Shannon’s answer for this dilema, “buy them online Mom.” I looked, but shipping cost 3 times more than the peas. And no, I don’t have or want Amazon prime because I hardly ever shop online. That’s why God made cars and malls. I might be too tight to pay shipping costs it would seem. So the tasty ham bone got comfy in the freezer while I figured out how and where to find whole dried peas. I was pretty sure The Dutch Store carried them. They did so I bought 6 pounds. I use 2 pounds each time. Westward-ho.

Banana Taffy, my favorite…

After hauling in my stuff from the car, Jo and I headed for Bernio’s Pizza in North Muskegon. A local pizza pub that’s gotten some national recognition for one of their signature pizzas. Neither Jo nor I have ever tried it. We aren’s very adventuresome when it comes to food. Or trying new things. Drove past my old house as it was getting dark and waited for that pang of homesickness to wave over me. That didn’t happen either. I did feel nostalgic and lonesome for a couple of my former neighbors. Pam was recently widowed and I still felt her deep hurt. And I do miss Dale and Carol. They had changed siding on their beautiful home since we moved. How I missed watching them in their yard. They love yard work, which is so not me. Hard to believe there are really people like that in the world. Religiously, diligently tend to their gorgeous perennials. Kind of like watching ‘whack a mole’ through the summer. Bam, another flower group is blooming. Bam, then another. Carol sits on the ground for hours pulling weed culprits out of her lovely groupings. Like spent cartridges flying out of an automatic gun, rat-a-tat-tat. Dale hovering behind her with the waste can picking up all the empty shells. Yup, I really miss watching and visiting them. But not my old house. OK, maybe one thing. Mary Jane just got back to Iowa after wintering in Arizona. Wrote me a note and said she and Les have been using their fireplace every night since they got back. I really miss my wood fireplace. That is all.

Saturday dawns and I’ve got an agenda. But first we hit one of our favorite breakfast spots, Steak ‘N Egger, which Jo informed me has changed hands. Seems Toast ‘N Jams bought the restaurant a few months ago, but maintains the original name. It’s early for a Saturday, about 8:30 and they’re not very busy. We are about to be shown to our booth when a familiar girl comes up to greet us. “Hi guys, it’s so great to see you again. Two over medium, 2 over hard, right? One with sausage patties, well done. Wheat toast, light butter. Two coffees and ice water, right?” For a second, Jo and I just stood there. Looking dumb. (Not as much of a stretch as you might think). It was Carrie, our old (but young) waitress from Toast ‘N Jams. She waited on us for years. She remembered our exact order, even to the point we always shared an order of sausage. Carrie’s son was in the terrible 2’s then. (Now he wants a car). Later Carrie got pregnant with her daughter, who’s now about 10. Carrie (the owner’s daughter) said she was just helping out for a couple of days, gave us each a quick hug and hurried back to her station. A couple minutes later, Carrie wandered back one more time. “You guys crack me up. You’re so cute.” (A BIG stretch) “You even sit in the booth the same way you did years ago!” Well that deserved an explanation. I always slide into a booth with my left ear (the worse one for my profound hearing loss) towards the wall, in hopes I can make out what the waitress is trying to convey on my right. Usually though I give a blank stare and my booth buddy says, “she wants to know how everything tastes?”

Oh the places we will go. McDonald’s Candy for starters. Best taffy (banana for me), Bobalars (Dutch candy, a fraction what The Dutch Store charges, for me and Shannon). Anise candy for Landon, good chocolate for Peyton, some sugar free for the Hubs. Ride around the Lake. It’s very windy, but the waves on the west side are puny. I don’t know if this area has a special name but it’s kind of in back of Dockers Restaurant and those lovely condo units. Nice whitecaps and crazy guys in wetsuits (it’s rainy, windy and cold) are wind surfing and jumping waves like lunatics. They did not venture out very deep, just kept going fast, back and forth along the shoreline. You don’t see this too often on Lake Michigan and I really enjoyed watching. Shopped at The Lakes Mall for a couple hours, then tried to squeeze in the best burger in town at The Station Grill before it got Saturday night busy. Who am I trying to kid? They’re always busy. And my downfall at The Station are their homemade Texas potato chips. We only had to wait a few minutes and the food was scrumptious! A late night of catching up on families with Jo. Soon it was Sunday morning and time for me to head back home. Toast ‘N Jams for breakfast for old times sake before I left.

One of our favorite spots to enjoy breakfast…

But it was my cute little waitress (with the amazing memory) who made my weekend and altered my negative view of my life in west Michigan for the last few years. She really ‘tipped’ the scales in a positive way. Thanks Carrie…

It’s not something I partake in often. Once Pioneer High School’s basketball season is done, I’m pretty much done too. Landon (Drew-t-t-r-o-t-w) dives head first into AAU ball (Amateur Athletic Union). A traveling basketball league located in many major cities with tournaments almost every weekend. I believe they start around 4th grade, but the group participating in the tourney’s we’ve attended are 15, 16 & 17 year olds.

Landon cleans up nicely for his emcee gig for Black History month…

Distance is one of the main reasons this grandma sits home weekends waiting for texts on how his team is faring. Ok, mostly how Landon’s doing. Money too. Those weekend jaunts are stinking expensive. Not only motels, restaurants, tourney tickets, (thanks BTW Shannon for buying ours this weekend), but most are held very far away, like California far. There are 2 however that are relatively close, one of which was this weekend in Grand Rapids. Probably 75 miles away now. So off we went Friday afternoon.

Warmups with uniform shorts that would fit Goliath. Landon is in the gray t-shirt…

Friday happened to be Peyton’s 13th birthday too. Was she thrilled to be headed for a weekend of watching her brother play endless basketball? Umm, not so much, but mom upped the ante to make it extra-special. Invited PJ’s bestie, Naydia along for a weekend of treats, swimming, shopping and late night slumber parties in the hotel. First stop was in Lansing for mile high frosted cupcakes from Gigi’s. Next Lansing Mall, then Skyzone. Supper after the first game in Grand Rapids at The Melting Pot. A fondue meal. Are you kidding me? That’s still a thing? When Shannon mentioned half these plans to me, I quickly said we were staying at a different hotel. Made me tired just thinking all they manage to squeeze in. (Besides we stayed at a Country Inns and Suites last year which is about a block from the Field House where most of the games are played). Plus the girls made a trip to Rivertown Crossing Mall. They just go and go. Then go some more.

Peyton and Tracey at daddy-daughter dance last month…

Back to basketball. The first couple of games determines where you’ll be seeded in the tourney. Landon’s whole team and coach are new to him. He’s played with most of the same kids and had the same coach for 2 years. So everything was different for him (and us). These games are pretty brutal compared to high school. Not very many fouls are called. A little bit loosey-goosey. The games are 32 minutes long, divided in halves, not quarters. With 3 minute half times. Holy Hannah, let me tell you, they play hard! The first game was a yawner, point wise, but it was kind of like watching an awkward teen couple on their first date. Starting point guard with a new team of kids and a coach who might have heard some good things about you, but really doesn’t know you. (Getting to know you, getting to know all about you). It was interesting to watch the weekend progress. How the coach and Landon became better acquainted with each other, their play style and the rest of the team.

Warmups-again…

So in a little over 40 hours Landon played 7 basketball games, starting at 7:30 Friday night. Each game takes about an hour. Thank heavens we weren’t subjected to any 10:30 p.m. games or the equally obnoxious 8 a.m. ones. Talk about brutal. None of those boys look good at 8 a.m. Not a one. Sorry Landon. (Staying up late, playing video games, goofing off, eating (grazing) constantly probably doesn’t help). Once seeding is done, the tourney starts and it’s one loss and you’re out. The Family played 3 games on Saturday, each from a couple to 4 hours apart. Won all three by about 20 points each time, Landon scoring about 15 per game, but playing more minutes every game. Ah, the coach was paying attention.

Keeping stats in my own unusual style…

The only halfway close game they played was Sunday morning. We won 56-51. Landon played the entire game and scored 18. Not his highest game total for the weekend but maybe his best game. Toss up, I guess. He had 21 points on Saturday morning and played only 22 minutes. He must be a morning person like his Gram.

Tracey was a no-show for most of the weekend. He anticipated being back in Michigan Saturday afternoon. He had a school function which included flying to New Orleans on Thursday to watch Pioneer’s orchestra perform twice on Friday. His weekend peaked when all his flights back home were canceled. Not a happy camper. He did manage to get a flight to Chicago on Sunday morning, then flew into Lansing, where he rented a car, ydrove to Grand Rapids. Just in time to watch Landon play the second half of one game, before the championship game. Which was anticlimactic. And a little bit awkward like that first game (date) Friday night.

Someone convinced John we needed T-shirts…

The championship game was between Landon’s new team, The Family and Ken, his former coach with King James Shooting Stars. Remember how disappointed I was towards the end of last year? Ken was out to lunch the whole last half. Don’t know what was going on in his life but I truly thought he was burned out and needed to retire. Obviously he didn’t and bounced back I guess. I didn’t recognize one player on Ken’s team, so everyone is new. The game wasn’t a blowout, but we were consistently staying ahead by 6 to 10 points for the most part when Landon broke his finger. Bummer. Of course he refused to come out of the game but his shooting was pretty much done. He did keep his team on that ‘even keel’ thing he does when he runs the floor. Since I’ve yet to learn any of his teammates names, I can’t tell you who the kid is, but # 11 for The Family shot the freaking lights out. The final score was 70-60. He must have had 30 points-at least.

Coach w/ trophy, Landon wearing 0 instead of #3 this season…

I’m wondering about the next tournament Gram can attend? Shannon said The Family is playing in a tourney in Detroit this year so that’s close and a must see. Plus the one in Fort Wayne. You should see the size of that field house. Has at least 8 or 10 courts. But I’m also ready for a couple weekends at home.

I’m bushed and glad to be back home. Got to gear up for a new week of a dozen babies. But the rest of the family is still going this Sunday night. Shannon’s taking Landon to the ER to have his crooked finger worked on. John’s driving Tracey to Detroit Metro to pick up his car. Naydia’s back home and Peyton’s ecstatic to be done with basketball for a few days. By game 7 she and her BFF were all out of bubbling enthusiasm. For sure…

We are SO done with this. Peyton & Naydia by Sunday afternoon…

I warned Ariana over and over. Carefully explaining the last month of pregnancy might feel 6 months long, but the second that baby girl made her appearance, life would start moving at warp speed. Still great grandma’s have a tendency to exaggerate, and Ari thought her maternity leave would last a lot longer. Ha-ha I thought, wish it would, but my whole encounter with the early years of motherhood in general went much too fast. Those years flew.

Jovi Marie, 2 months…

Ari and Josh visited the Daycare where I work, filled out paperwork and signed up Jovi. They were hoping to use daycare only 3 days a week. Josh was campaigning his bosses at U of M to work from home one day a week or change his work week to four-10 hour days in order to stay with Jovi on Monday’s. Our daughter Shannon, Jovi’s grandma (that’s still pretty weird for me to say or believe) thought she could care for Jovi most Fridays, therefore needing daycare on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Only to discover a very long waiting list in each of our rooms. It’s kind of a vicious cycle. We can only have 12 babies in our room. (Only-ha!) I believe that’s determined by our square footage. We can keep babies in our room longer than a year, but until they’re at least one year old, each baby must have their own crib to nap in. When they move to the Wonderful Ones, they sleep on tiny cots about 2 inches off the ground. And instead of our low to the ground high chairs, they eat family style, at little tables with tiny chairs. So stinking cute. And it mattered not one whit, this great grandma had absolutely no pull or got preferential treatment.

You wanna fight me???

So this vicious cycle. My boss Tracy explained it really isn’t going to get much better until the regular school year is over in our building. And I don’t know all the technical terms for the classrooms, but here’s the gist of it. When the kindergarten readiness class is moving to regular kindergarten, the 4 year olds move to readiness, the 3’s move to preschool, the 2’s to whatever that’s called, (pre-preschool?) and the Wonderful Ones move to Toddlers. Which gives openings for our babies to move to the Ones. By the end of summer there will be about 10 of our babies who will have turned 1 and should be moving. Not to worry, the waiting list to get in our room is long and every week or so some pregnant mom-to-be walks through. There seems to be no shortage of newborns clamoring to get in. Duh, we’re the best.

I love P!nk…

So the weeks of Ari-Jovi bonding non-stop were clipping right along with no real solution becoming crystal clear. Finally a call, there was an opening in the infant room. Wait for it. One. Measly. Day. A. Week. Only available day is Wednesday, so Josh and Ari grabbed it. At least they got their (Jovi’s adorable little) foot in the door. But what to do about Tuesday-Thursday? Not giving it a second thought, John under the tutelage of the great Mighty Mouse, ‘here-I-am-to-save-the-day’ pipes up and casually blurts, “I’ll take care of Jovi those 2 days a week until there’s an opening for her!” Oh, just blow me away Hubs.

It’s not that John wasn’t a great father when our kids were small. He was. He did stuff with them I had no interest in. Like carving pumpkins, dyeing Easter eggs, sledding, ice skating, fishing. Crap I was horrible at, even in my lame attempts to become a more well rounded mother at times. Never worked. But it’s been many years since Hubs really, really took care of a baby. He did spend a lot of time with Ari when she was young, but that too was 25 years ago. Still there was no hesitation and never once did he lament in the weeks leading up to Jovi-great-grandpa days, “why in heaven’s name did I ever offer to do this? What was I thinking?” Nope, never crossed his mind.

Might be a little spoiled…

In the last 20 years childcare has changed a lot. Since I started working in the infant room over a year ago, I’ve taken several classes and gone to 2 hours of instruction every month, keeping up to date with all the state licensing rules. Safe sleep, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, mandatory reporting of any signs of abuse or neglect. Protecting and advocating for those who cannot yet protect themselves. Feeding, burping, no blankets or toys in their cribs, no sleeping anywhere but in their crib, no swaddling. The list goes on and on. All of which I rattled off at different times leading up to his first Jovi-Day. One of the toughest to wrap our heads around has been babies sleeping on their backs. Goes against everything doctors taught us 45 yeas ago when we were having babies. Would if they spit up, won’t they choke if they’re on their backs? Though I did not make him take the online class, I vividly remember and relayed the stats. In the last 20 plus years since doctors have been advocating young babies sleeping only on their backs, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome has dropped from 15 babies per thousand to 8 per thousand. Think about that for a minute. Still losing babies but the rate has dropped almost in half. Hubs the engineer, understands statistics. Ok, he was on board. Ari wrote down approximate feeding times and naps, and just as suddenly, she was heading back to work and dropping off 9 week old Jovi with her great grandpa. Normally I get Tuesday’s off which would leave John only Thursday’s for her care until I get home at 1, but work hasn’t been normal. I gave up Tuesday’s off for a few weeks, then offered to work until 3 everyday. (What was I thinking? What a difference 2 hours makes! Getting home at 3:20 instead of 1:20. Too late to start the crockpot unless we want to eat at 8 or later. Not. This is why great grandma’s don’t work full time. Yikes Louise, I was bushed).

I’ve been told there were some very serious discussions between Jovi and GG during their first couple days. # 1 on his to-do or not-do-list was waiting to poop until grandma got home. (Jovi, not GG, I think) Which the little stinker completely agreed with until the last day of week 3. Only to discover it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought. Yet I’ve heard every detail-thrice. Dude, I get that privilege several times everyday at work. You’re preaching to the choir. And it’s not a big deal.

John always carved pumpkins with the kids, 1984…

Jovi and GG seem to have a rhythm for their days together. Watching the birdies at the feeder by the sliding glass doors. Ogling my brightly colored round glass ornaments hanging in the living room bay window. Sitting for a few minutes together in grandma’s chair in the living room so she can talk to the lamp. Yup, the lamp. It sparkles and glistens when the sun’s shining. I explained to Jovi one day after I got home. Now she realizes of course it’s sparkly, it’s Waterford.

I gotta have a boppy pillow wherever I go…

Everything has gone fairly smooth. I put a beach towel on the spare bed for a changing table. We have some incredibly useful equipment at work that we lack here at home. Time to go shopping. Bought a boppy pillow (amazing). Very helpful when otherwise Jovi would be flat on the floor. Hubs just got a new Lazy Boy recliner. Seems they spend most of their day together. In it. He holds her. She sleeps. He doesn’t eat, pee or move. Oy vey. I’ve tried to reason with both of them, sternly, this isn’t the best idea in the world. Much as she is idolized, she cannot be held 8 hours a day. Can’t happen at daycare, 12 babies, 5 caregivers. Do the math. Sometimes babies fuss for a couple minutes. There seems to be some kind of secret look (code) that passes between them, but then he nods and says, “yeah, you’re right, I’ll lay her down.” So we went shopping again. Bought a bouncy seat. Jovi’s off the ground and this is the way they watch TV together. (No screen time EVER at Daycare). They’ve tried all kinds of programs, each finding their favorites. Disney jr, Sesame Street, but for some reason The Curse of Oak Island, Gold Rush (yes, they both prefer and root for Parker in his quest for 4,000 ounces of gold this year) and lastly, ghastly, that Lame Tuna Fishing fiasco. We will fix this little flaw at a later date.

Sometimes I just need my binky. Baths are hard…

A week ago, Shannon calls to see if we are home. She has something for us. Two gifts actually. One is an extra base of Jovi’s car seat. That way when she’s at Daycare and I’m done working, I can plop her in my car and bring her to our house for a couple hours until Ari gets here. Couple of problems I’ve encountered with that scenario. How on earth do young mothers carry the baby, that heavy ass car seat, the diaper bag, plus my stuff? I guess ‘young’ is the biggest part I lack. I can’t believe how heavy the car seat is with Jovi in it. Honestly I’d have to stop 2 or 3 times, making my way through the parking lot. I’ve never parked close wherever I’ve worked. So I first brought out the diaper bag, lunch bag, left over bottles, everything but the seat and kid. Moved my car as close to the back door as possible. This is not a popular time of day so I shouldn’t get in trouble. Kids are still in school, moms are still working. By this time, my coworker, Sabrina has Jovi snugged up in her car seat. She just had her first grandson and actually takes him places. By herself. Of course she’s 38. Another great gal, Ninfa gets out of work the same time as I do, scoops up the carrier with Jovi like it weighs a couple of pounds. Out the door, into my nearby car, and snaps it into the base. Voila! Jovi did manage to remind great grandma it was past her lunch time and her ‘binky’ was in my coat pocket. About a dozen times for the 4 mile trip. Sorry Jovi, I’m learning. And I’m slow. And old.

The second gift Shannon lugged in was a Pack N Play. Awesome combination play pen, portable crib. On 2 levels. While Jovi is little, we can use ‘the top floor’ of the play pen. Like the highest level of a crib. Easier to pick her up without bending down to the floor. As she gets bigger, we will use the lower setting. The Pack N Play however is the approximate size of our living room. A slight exaggeration. I guess there is still room to walk around. Sideways. With my gut sucked in. Shannon realized this too. She handed her father a business card. An architect’s blueprints for us. A ‘Jovi room’ will be added soon. Kidding, but the house has gotten cozy with all her paraphernalia setting around. Makes me smile. Wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe slow down time for a bit.

Got my last surprise for the week. I had just gotten home from work and was rocking Jovi while she carried on a rousing conversation with the Waterford lamp. Grandpa finally had his chance to use the bathroom, eat some lunch, and go out for the mail. A package for me. I hadn’t ordered anything. Inside was a beautiful, handmade, soft, flannel baby blanket. Crocheted pink edging. From my friend, Janice Stellingwerf who grew up in Rock Valley with me. She does not know Ariana, never met her and probably won’t. Has never laid eyes on adorable little Jovi either. But took the time out of her busy schedule to handcraft an heirloom for me, Ari and Jovi. I was stunned. Didn’t unwrap the blanket cause I wanted Ari to have that honor. When Ariana walked in, I handed the blanket to her. Explained who Janice is. Ari started to cry. What in the world makes people do such extraordinary things? For people they don’t even know? There are really no words. Thanks so much Jan. From great grandma, mommy and gorgeous little blanket lover, Jovi…

I loves my new blankie and Michigan State…

Well Landon’s (Drew to the rest of the world) sophomore season of basketball at Pioneer is done. It went much too fast and I’m not ready to give it up yet. Probably my feelings of guilt because I missed 2 games while on vacation. Some grandma I turned out to be. Slacker. Should be taking vacations during the summer like normal people. I’ve never been normal and I detest winter with a passion. Living in Michigan doesn’t help. Long winters. Very long.

Landon taking a shot, 2017…

The season had it’s ups and downs. On a whole, his freshman year was better with more wins. But he’s matured a lot this year. He never started last year, averaging about 16 minutes a game. Going in each quarter about the 3-4 minute mark and playing until the buzzer. Landon started every game he played this season, averaging about 28 minutes a game. Not very many minutes when he wasn’t running the floor.

Does that new hair color job make him jump higher?

That doesn’t mean there weren’t a few hiccups this year. He got hurt a couple of times. And almost always at practice. Landon was hit in the side of his face/neck/shoulder, knocking him out. He couldn’t break his fall thus hit his head on the court. He didn’t regain consciousness for several minutes, so a road trip to U of M Hospital via ambulance commenced. (I may have to wear a disguise during next seasons practice to find out just how rough they get. Who was that punk anyway?) Diagnosis was a concussion. Although Landon did his best after a couple of days to convince everyone he was fine, Michigan law states (and wisely so) a concussion warrants a week off, minimum.

Awesome shot Landon…

Plus a couple of allergy issues, so there were a couple games when he didn’t play at all. I was lost when he wasn’t on the floor. So was Pioneer. They lost every game he didn’t play in. Not saying they won all the games he did play in, but they definitely did better when Landon was playing and running the court.

His left foot foot has been troubling him again at times. Geez-oh-Pete that stinking foot. (Quite literally after a game-whew). Specialist thinks it a haywire nerve imbedded in scar tissue. Brought on by the 2 stress fractures, or did the nerve cause Landon to adjust his gait causing stress fractures? It’s not getting any worse, so the plan is getting this little issue fixed in June. Once and for all I hope.

No problems snaking past most defenders…

With starting, playing more minutes, his point averages have been higher too. I’m still keeping Landon’s stats in my little magnetic journal like I did last year. Now I’m afraid to make a change and use some new fangled professional stat sheet. Don’t want to jinx anything. Got to keep up my own quirky way of keeping reliable information at hand. If I get caught up in an exciting game, I may miss a foul (he doesn’t tend to foul much, but guards so close he often causes turnovers-Dude you rock!), or forget to jot down a missed shot (hate to chart those anyway, but I gotta) but I rarely (and I do mean rarely) ever miss one of his baskets or free throws. Heck, I’ve read Coach Rex’s after game summaries and he’s been wrong more often on Landon’s point total than I have. Rex dude, not rocking it.

I’ll have to wait until after the winters sports banquet when all of Landon’s stats are on a spread sheet to see just how accurate I was this year. (They’re almost impossible for this gram to read and figure out). According to Gram (ATG) I have this year’s game point average about 14. One of his best games (I didn’t know it then) that’s stuck with me all winter was kind of strange. A conference away game and about the farthest we have to travel. Maybe a little over an hour for us from our house. A farming community named Bedford-complete opposite of hip Ann Arbor. Home of the ‘Kicking Mules.’ I kid you not.

High scorer again. Way to go Landon, 2017…

I like arriving at games rather early, get my popcorn and pop out of the way so’s not to disrupt my efficient bookkeeping tasks. Both teams are on the floor warming up with about 10 minutes to tipoff. Coaches on either side are watching players, discussing strategy or deciding where to have a beer afterward the game. Landon jogs to the center court with a ball. Using the center court line, he dribbles between his legs, spinning, stops, pivots, twists, dribbling behind his back very fast. When he gets close to out of bounds, he repeats the same thing-but backwards. Sometimes dribbling at warp speed and bouncing the ball about an inch off the ground. So cool to watch. Reminds me of something that was said about what a fabulous dancer Fred Astaire was-leading up to the great comeback about Ginger Rogers-yeah, well, she did the same thing in heels-backwards.

Move along folks. I got this…

How come I’m so slow on the draw to record these moments? My phone is just idling away while I watch this super talented athlete. A cardinal sin for sure. Better yet, I should have used the camera to tape the 2 Kicking Mules coaches on the sidelines. They stopped talking, started watching and were absolutely mesmerized. Both their jaws unhinged and drop to the court with a clunk. They were unable to tear their gaze away from this ball handler extraordinaire. Yeah, I’d pay money to have that little video go viral. Ha. Landon, unfazed and unaware stopped after 2 or 3 back and forths, dribbled to the 3 point line and tossed in 4 in a row. Oh my.

My shy little introvert…

Ann Arbor won 77-73. Landon had 24, nearly one third of the point total. His game and year has been pretty good. Pioneer made it to the Regional finals this year-a surprise for many. Goes to show when your teams clicking, underdogs win. There was a write up about the 4 teams playing that night by Prep Hoops. It gave me a huge lump and made me cry.

Pioneer may have the best 2019 point guard in the state in Drew Lowder…

What’s in store? AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) is starting soon and changes there too. Landon will probably play for Detroit (his nemesis for the last few years) and not out of Cleveland (saving a lot of travel time for him and dad). He’s also toying with the idea and being a 2 sport athlete. Something the orthopedic doc recommended. Do another sport to use different muscles. He’s mulling baseball. Oh my stars!!

Lots of talent in this kid…

I hope I haven’t made Landon sound like he’s a perfect player. He’s not. He does possess this uncanny ability to ‘see’ the court differently than many players. Almost like a chess game and Landon has the vision of the next 6 moves. But since not all players have this unearthly blip, he can become impatient with his teammates while they catch up to move 4 when he’s already on move 8. My hope is he continues to grow, mature, learn more and hone his skills. He’s got some God given talent, no doubt about it.

Landon dribbled right by him…

The Iowa Hawkeyes did not make it to the big dance this year. They’re very young and will be loads better for the next couple years. It’s no secret I’d love for Landon to play for Iowa, or pretty much anyone in the Big 10. We were watching the Hawks play in the NIT tourney last weekend when I saw something very odd on the court. The game was at Carver-Hawkeye Arena, and a Hawkeye was shooting free throws. On the floor in front of the Hawks bench was a large painted sign on the floor. All it said was ‘Pioneer.’ Coincidence? Nah. Very subtle. Trying to woo my boy to Iowa. Well played Fran. Well played.

Such a subtle way to woo Landon to Iowa…

Will Landon be good enough to play for a big time college? Don’t know, but certainly praying he will be. I hope when his high school sports career is over he is remembered fondly as a superb athlete-with a lot of heart. Admired and respected by the kids he played with and against. This picture pretty much sums it up. Until then, I’ll be in the stands, magnetic journal in hand, phone camera no where to be found, rooting for this amazing ball player…

Showing support and good sportsmanship. Great job Landon….

I recently became a great-grandma. I thought I was a bit young to become a great, yet I eagerly anticipated having a baby in the family again. Our youngest grandson, Graham is 7 already. Jovi Marie, our darling little babe of 2 months has the whole family smitten. She smiles, coos and has a language all her own, which she uses frequently.

Jovi Marie, one month…

Since this is a big deal for me, I’ve been thinking of my grandparents and greats lately. I never heard Dad talk about his grandparents. He was 10 years older than Mom, and I think his grands were long gone by the time I was born. Dad’s parents lived in Rock Valley. There weren’t many days while I was growing up when Dad didn’t stop and see his folks. I actually went along quite often. Dad and his folks would talk about what was going on in town or grandma might say she got a letter from one of Dad’s sibs that day. But we never did grandma-granddaughter stuff together. No baking cookies or tea parties.

Arie, Bessie Gerritson w/Shannon 1975…

Dorothy married Mom’s brother Floyd. After Dorothy retired, she was interested in genealogy. Uncle Floyd passed away in 2003, 10 months before my Mom (strange, Floyd passed right after their 77th birthday, Mom a couple months before their 78th). Whenever I was visiting in Iowa, I’d stop to see her in Sioux Center. Once in a while she’d bring out this huge 4 inch thick binder. All the relatives history on both sides of my Mom and Floyd. I asked her if I could make copies of all the sheets in Sioux Center? She politely but very firmly refused. A few months later, Aunt Dorothy mailed me several copied sheets from her original. I think she felt bad about refusing to let me make copies. Although the 20 sheets are not even one percent, I’m grateful. And fascinated.

Aunt Dorothy and me around 2005…

It’s surprising what can be gleaned from such a small amount of information. Although some of the sheets don’t tell much, recorded are births, deaths, baptisms and marriages. Dorothy managed to pack a lot of extra news about the family. She copied archived articles from the Sioux City Journal and Sioux Center News (called the Nieusblad, Dutch I assume for news). At times not very many words but profound. December 13, 1926, my Mom, Florence Elaine and her twin brother, Floyd Dwayne were born in Sioux Center, Iowa. Here’s an example of an article two days later as it appeared in the Sioux Center paper.

Floyd and Florence, 1928…

Mr. and Mrs. G. Wanningen, Jr. were gladden by the birth of twins, a son and a daughter. (Less than 2 weeks later, this was the following article). Early Monday morning, 27 December, 1926, our hearts were cast into deep sorrow, when we afflicted a heavy blow, that pleased the Father to take away my beloved mate, Coba Wanningen, geb Berghuis at the age of 20 years, after a blessed marriage of two years. Great was our joy when two weeks before, twins were born. But in the counsel of the Father, our joy was of short duration. The Father took the young mother to Himself, after a short serious illness. We don’t understand the Father’s ways, but our ways are not His. We rest our desires in Him, knowing and trusting in His goodness and wisdom. In the name of the sorrowful family of Gerrit Wanningen. P.S. To neighbors and friends, our sincere thanks is assured, for their help and showing sympathy.

My grandma Coba, pregnant with Mom and Floyd, early fall, 1926…

Though finding this horribly sad, the language used to write the obituary is profound, churchy, understanding, Godly, forgiving, compassionate and a bit odd. Hard for me to describe the feelings I have, but I’m really glad I have all these little additions from my past. I can’t believe the first sentence starting with “early Monday” contains 8 commas. Count them, 8!

My grandpa Gerrit (Lakey) about 1915…

But the lady on my mind lately is my paternal great grandma. Her name was Jantje (yon-chee) Frantzen. She was born on December 20, 1867 in Steenwijkerwold, Overijssel, Netherlands. I don’t know what year she immigrated to the US, but she was sponsored (someone in Sioux Center who would help her with housing and find a job). She married my great grandpa Geurt Wanningen, (8 years her senior) in 1889. They lived on 20 acres near Sioux Center. She never learned to speak English and always wore wooden shoes. Jantje and Guert had 2 children, a daughter, Jantje (Jennie) and a son Gerke (Gerrit), my grandpa.

My great grandma Jantje Frantzen Wanningen around age 45…

Jennie married Paul Van Donge in 1915. She must have been about 16. Soon she became pregnant. There were health issues causing complications in Jennie’s pregnancy. My great aunt Lena was barely a teen at the time said Jennie had cancer in her eye, and a bad case of flu right before her due date. Jennie went to a hospital in Sioux City by train and delivered a boy, Peter who was stillborn. Jennie died the next day. What a blow for Paul, Jantje and Guert. Their only daughter and firstborn grandson, both dead. Jennie and Peter returned to Sioux Center by train to a grieving family. For the funeral and burial, Peter was placed in his mother’s arms in the same casket. Life was not easy around 1920. The life expectancy for a woman was 42. Jennie didn’t make half that. Loss was a huge part of life.

Sibs, Jennie and Gerrit around 1915…

Jantje and Guert sold the acreage and decided to build a big house in Sioux Center. Townsfolk thought it a bit odd since Jennie had passed away and Gerrit (my grandpa, nicknamed Lakey) was in his mid-20’s already. In 1924, 28 year old Lakey married Coba Berghuis, 18. She had graduated from high school in May, then attended school in Des Moines for 6 weeks to become a teacher. She taught in a one room school house for 2 years. Coba gave up her teaching position in the fall of 1926 because she was pregnant with Mom and Floyd. Coba died 2 weeks after their birth at the age of 20. Jantje lost her daughter, first grandson and daughter-in-law in a 8 year span.

Florence and Floyd, 1933…

Coba’s Parents, Pieter and Aafje (Effie) Berghuis took care of the twins for about a month but it was decided that Jantje and Guert would raise them after that. Bigger house, more money. The Berghuis’ insisted Jantje hire a nanny, which she did until the twins turned 2. My great grandparents were now raising newborns when Guert was 67 and Jantje was 60. Wow. And I get weary canning a few jars of jam. Mom never said too much about her father when she and Floyd were very young. The Sioux Center Nieusblad did mention a couple months after Coba died that Gerrit and his twins moved in with his mom and dad. Mom always felt her dad blamed her and Floyd for causing their mother’s death. Maybe blame is too strong, but Mom felt he harbored bitterness towards her and Floyd. Gerrit remarried in 1933 to someone with several children and offered to raise the twins who were then 7. They tried it for a short time, but Floyd and Florence were so miserable they soon moved back with Guert and Jantje.

Great grandma Effie Berghuis with Florence & Floyd, 1927…

A few years before Mom passed away I realized the urgency of getting some family history. Mom and I would just be talking about something inconsequential when she’d start reminiscing about her childhood with her grandparents. I’d grab a piece of paper and start writing. One paragraph was about Guert’s driving. Mom claimed he was so bad that Jantje insisted he sell the car after he drove Jantje to town and took a corner on 2 wheels.

My beautiful grandma Coba, 1906-1926…

Jantje was not someone who went to the doctor. One day she was feeding the chickens from a feed bucket and stuck her hand inside and was bit by a rat. She got pretty sick but would not go to the doctor. Another time she had an abscess. She did doctor that time and was unable to care for the twins so you know how serious it was. The twins stayed with their dad and stepmom for a few weeks.

Jantje, Guert, Florence & Floyd by the big house in Sioux Center, 1930…

Every winter Guert would buy a huge wooden barrel filled with fish which he kept in the garage. Northwest Iowa, you know it stayed frozen all winter. This was a mainstay for many suppers. When they were going to have fish, Guert would take a knife and chop the ice to removed chunks of fish. Jantje was always fearful Mom and Floyd were going to choke on fish bones. Funny what parents and grands worry about isn’t it?

My handsome great grandpa Guert Wanningen, about 55…

Guert died in 1938 at the age of 78. I came this close to meeting my great grandma Jantje. She passed away in August of 1950, about 3 months before I was born. The older I get, the more I long for additional snippets about my grands and greats. I know Mom talked about them frequently, especially the most important person in her life. Jantje. I needed to be more steadfast in my listening ability, ask more questions and jot those memories down as she was reminiscing about them for me.

Florence and Floyd around 1995…

Why didn’t I jot down more tidbits surrounding the birth of the twins? I don’t know if Floyd was born first or my Mom. Every time I read something about their birth, it says, a boy and a girl. Does that mean Floyd was the eldest by a few minutes? I can’t believe I never asked, and if I did, why can’t I remember? Or was a son usually mentioned first back then? Argh.

Partial 1923 Sioux Center girls basketball team. My grandma Coba on far right.

One page of miscellaneous stuff I wrote was about glassware I’ve since inherited. When it was given and what was the occasion. Many of the pieces were gifts from people they sponsored after they arrived from The Netherlands. Although the names of the givers mean nothing to me, I smile when I read about these tokens of deep appreciation. But it’s the tiny toothpick holder that makes me cry. It’s textured and shows clusters of grapes, though some of the coloring is gone or faded. Mom always loved it as do I. For the life of me I can’t remember the history on this itty-bitty thing. Every time I walk past it, I’m frustrated because I cannot remember anything significant about it. What I wouldn’t give to ask Mom the history of her favorite little toothpick holder…

Such a petite toothpick holder, but lacking knowledge on its history…

The first time I hit Vegas was 1961, at the ripe old age of 10. I didn’t see the inside of a casino, but I remember the night like it was yesterday. Mom, Dad, plus two renters of 2/3 of our (my) backseat. Squished in our 1958 Chevy Biscayne 2 door. With me. We’d been vacationing in California and were driving home through the desert. With no air. At the time Las Vegas had a population of 64,000. It was getting dark as we drove closer, yet none of us could speak. There ahead, quite narrow but very long was a sprawling, sparkly city of dazzling lights. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

This sign still stands, welcoming all to Sin City…

The city was alive and bustling. And hot. We were all pooped. And hot. Folks finally decided to stop. Mom checked out several motel/hotels. If there was a vacancy sign, she’d get out of the car, stop in the office and ask the price first, then ask to see a room. If the room or surroundings weren’t up to her high standards, (many establishments were not) we’d press on. She had a cleanliness phobia. I know we didn’t stay on the Strip, but the room was clean and obviously within our budget (thus making the grade for our sojourners, the renters hogging my back seat). The small motel had an outdoor POOL. I was beyond excited. The night air had cooled and my swim in the pool felt like warm bath water. Goodness it just didn’t get any better than that. I’d gone swimming in the Pacific but it had been frigid the day we were at the beach. I was ready to stay here a week. I think Dad was hesitant about stopping in Las Vegas, like some bad viral gambling habit was going to hop on board and follow us to Iowa.

My twin Kruizenga cousins and me in the freezing California Pacific, 1961…

It would be 35 years before I gave Las Vegas another thought. One of Hubs buddy’s asked if we were interested in going to Vegas for a couple of days? Well sure. Not a memorable trip, but we stayed at the old Tropicana. About 5 years later, the same friend asked if we’d like to go again. By then we had moved to North Muskegon, making the drive much longer to Detroit Metro. So was the stay. Five days equaling 120 hours, or 7,200 long, excruciating minutes. We were leaving very early Monday morning on a plane specifically headed to Vegas. I think they called it a party plane. You know right off the bat, this just isn’t me.

The flight was delayed so most everyone sat around drinking (not me, it was 8 am for pete’s sake). Finally we took off with about 90% of the passengers 3 sheets gone. Just kill me now. Loud, obnoxious and not very funny. Pretty sure I’m the only person who’s gonna remember that flight. One dude sitting close to us asked a stewardess how much beer (quantity) was on the plane? She gave him a figure, he said, “I’ll take it.” She explained that wasn’t fair to the rest of the passengers because there wouldn’t be beer anyone else. (like anyone needed more? Maybe me by this time) He shot back, “I’m buying all of it to give it away!” Oh boy.

One of the casinos when we drove through in 1961…

We finally landed and were shuffled off to our hotels. Hubs and I were staying at the Excalibur. The lines to check in snaked halfway through the lobby. Instantly, the noise bothered me. I’m pretty sure I was either losing my hearing and didn’t realize it, or the Excalibur caused my deafness. Hundreds of one armed bandits being pulled simultaneously, accompanied by those noisy falling coins. Banging, clanging, clunking. I was instantly uncomfortable and twitchy. While John played slots languishing through the long line, I stood and waited, shivering. The casino owners don’t want you nodding off or you’ll wind up in your room sleeping instead of gambling. I’ve found casino floors (not the actual floors, then again I’ve never checked) to be on the chilly side. I had researched temps for Las Vegas in May. Mid-80’s or higher. I brought my swim suit, (laid out every morning by 8:30 before it got hot) shorts, sandals and sleeveless tops. Wrong. I needed fleece and Cuddl Duds. Try finding that in Sin City during May. I did manage to buy some slacks and a couple of long sleeve tops to wear. Looked like a homeless woman all week in my 7 layers, but I was more comfortable.

After Hubs got our room key, he sauntered over carrying a small bucket. Filled with quarters so I could have some fun. Whee. At the end of the week, he glanced at the bucket, 75% full. “You won all this? That’s great. Fun, wasn’t it?” “Umm, no, this is the same bucket of change.” “You mean you lost about a half an inch of quarters? During 5 whole days? And this is what’s still left?” “Yup.”

Part of the Strip in 1961…

I don’t have a problem spending money. I love to shop. (Ok maybe a small problem, just keeping it real) I can buy a top for $75 bucks, wear it twice, then realize it makes my butt look humongous. Toss it in a bag and bring it to Goodwill, and not feel too bad. I might feel stupid for buying the shirt in the first place. Why didn’t I turn around and check the 18 mirrors to see how the sweater looked on my big ass before ringing it up? Not prone to glance at my big butt too often I guess. For some bizarre reason, I can’t put pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters or heaven forbid dollar bills in a slot machine. I equate slot machines to throwing money down a toilet. Just can’t do it.

One of a dozen Kors bags. Yup, I like to shop, not gamble…

I spent most of the long week in a sports lounge. They had several big screen TV’s with every game on imaginable. A diehard Cubs fan, I’d just sit and watch their game. No one knew if I had placed a bet. Good grief, much as I love them, who in their right mind would bet on the Cubs anyway? Though definitely in 2016. Yay Cubbies. I’d head back in our room by 8 or 9 cause all my favorite programs were having their season finales. Ah, the good life. By Wednesday Hubs was up a grand and feeling guilty about not doing much together. We started walking the Strip, ending our walk at Caesars Palace. What a magnificent place (except for the gambling part). A plethora of small shops, we wandered into a Coach store, buying my very first, a navy bag the size of Delaware.

Thursday we rented a car and drove out to Hoover Dam. Not very many tourists, so we got the royal treatment. Our guide took us into the deepest bowels of the dam. He told us though construction started in 1931 (same year they legalized gambling in Las Vegas) the cement was still not dry (some 50 plus years later). I believe it’s about 8 feet thick. For me, Hoover Dam was the best part of our trip, bar none. We watched Mountain Goats climb precariously straight up solid rock, and wander amazingly close to us with absolutely no fear of humans.

Big Horn Sheep roam around Hoover freely…

That trip to Vegas was 20 years ago, and I really never thought about going back. But we just did, twice. We flew to Vegas with the idea of staying one night, renting a car and driving to Yuma. Didn’t realize that our flight was before and during the Super Bowl. John thinks he’s a football fan, but that’s really not accurate. He’s a Minnesota Vikings fan. Once they’re out of it (they were never really in it this year) he’s done. We arrived at Hooters just as the game is headed to overtime. We were tired and hungry. I’d never been to a Hooters before, our ‘goal’ was some of their famous wings and a good nights sleep. Not to be. Every restaurant in Hooters was closed for private super bowl parties. We waited with assurance once the game ended they’d reopen to the public. Forty-five minutes later we were told the cooks had to re-prep and it would be another hour. Now crabby, tired and hungry we walked to the Tropicana and had pasta.

One armed bandit…

After 12 great days in Yuma, (thanks Les, Mary Jane and Marco the dentist) we drove back to Las Vegas on Friday to drop off the rental and hop on a plane Monday morning. At 6 am. Yes, that meant waking up at 2:30. We stayed 2 nights so we could visit our niece Wendy and her family. Which was the best part of this Las Vegas trip. The weather was horrible. Cold, rainy, we never saw the sun or 60 degrees in Nevada. On Sunday we hit the Premium Outlet Mall early for a new Michael Kors bag. (Sorry Coach, you lost me 10 years ago with over-saturating the market with subpar merchandise). We both wanted to go back to the Hoover Dam which they’ve completely redone. Number one, our national treasure was packed. Fantastic to see such a long line of cars. Families with strollers, back packs filled with snacks, hikers hitting the nearby trails. Steady stream of walking traffic in and out of souvenir shops. Never knew the (2010) bypass bridge around Hoover which spans the Colorado River between Nevada and Arizona was dedicated to Pat Tillman. He was a Arizona Cardinals safety from 1998-2001. He quit pro football and joined the Army Rangers in 2002 and was killed in Afghanistan. That bridge bears 2 names, the other is Mike O’Callaghan who I know nothing about. Sorry Mike.

The Pat Tillman By-Pass, opened in 2010…

Back to the Tropicana for our last short night. As I’m walking through the casino I can’t help but feel sorry for the people gambling. Isthat weird? I don’t know any of them and don’t really care if they’re losing money they can ill afford. It seems worse now than 20 years ago. Not bigger numbers, the casinos didn’t seem that busy. But the glazed, lost, hopeless looks on their faces. Now you don’t even have to pull the one arm bandit. There’s a button that you just smack. It reminds me of my former favorite TV program, The Walking Dead. (Dudes, you lost me in the first episode this year, the second Glenn was killed. How could you? Seriously?) There’s a zombie impaled on a wrought iron piece of fence, but until he gets shot, arrowed, macheteed, knifed, hammered, baseball batted or stabbed in the head, he will not die the second time. But he no longer has the strength or smarts to undo his miserable situation. So he keeps making those annoying noises and herky-jerky-itty-bitty movements. Exactly like those slack-faced gamblers. Smacking that bet button. Over and over and over…

It seemed like a most unusual love affair. John’s brother Les is a real Iowan. Loved his state, his job, his town, his home, his life. The least likely candidate to catch a bad case of wanderlust. But that’s exactly what happened. I believe the blame might lie with his better half, my sister-in-law Mary Jane. From here on out be advised, her real name is Mary Jane, but she also answers to Jane, Mary or MJ, so as I’m telling the story, it’s all the same gal, just by whatever I feel like calling her in that sentence.

Les and his famous mustache…

About 10 years ago, Les was having some pretty serious back issues. This just wasn’t his style. He didn’t call in sick, he rarely took vacations. Goodness, he was needed at work, he couldn’t be gone, and he was used to heavy, physical labor. But his back and leg didn’t get better, it got worse. He needed surgery. I believe 2 surgeries were required. Major bummer for a workaholic with a less than average amount of patience. Sorry Les, but after 75 years, somebody had to say it. And as kindly as I could.

So surgery fixed the problem but recovery took it’s time and a toll. He was sick to death of working jigsaw puzzles, and everything and everyone was getting on his last nerve. Mary Jane decided Les needed a change of scenery. They were in the middle of a nasty Iowa winter and getting out, doing things were impossible. MJ suggested they go away for a few days and visit some friends who no longer spent their winters in Iowa. Blasphemy. Well at times Mary (she knows when these times are just right for a subtle push) can be a bit assertive herself. “Les, you’re bored, you’re crabby and we can’t get out to do anything. We’re going away. Period.” Alrighty then.

Called a Prickly Pear, when it blooms the flowers are fluorescent…

They had some friends who spent some of Iowa’s endless winter in Arizona. That sounded like a plan. Les conceded, well maybe a day or 2 would be ok. (Kind of a long ways to go for 48 or 72 hours but you have to take your victories where you can get them when you’re married to a Van Berkum. I should know). They spent a couple days with friends enjoying weather and landscapes as opposite as Iowa’s deep black soil and white winters. Guess what? “Hey Mikey, he liked it!” Not long after Les and Jane got back, their friends called with this enticing tidbit. “There’s a place for sale near our house. “Are ‘ya interested?” Maybe. They flew back to Arizona, looked at several places and bought one a couple days later. But it was already mid-March, that’s when the snowbirds start leaving Arizona, not moving in. So it would be about 9 months before Les and Mary would retreat to their winter retreat.

Aptly named the Hedgehog Cactus…

Les and Jane stayed 7 or 8 weeks that first winter. And the little Iowa boy who seemed the least likely to love winter anywhere but Iowa grew to love the weather in Arizona during the winter. Each year they’d go a little bit earlier and stay a couple weeks longer. Les didn’t miss the blizzards, below zero temps and snow-blowing twice a day at all. He looked forward to the large group of new and old friends they had in Arizona. And one of the things they all had in common-enjoying better weather during the winter.

Eye in the sky, one of many around Yuma. This blimp was grounded when we drove past…

About 8 years ago was when I started hearing stories from MJ about Les and his fascination with ‘the desert.’ He and some of his cronies (ok, let’s just call them his crew) would go exploring. Maybe the desert looked boring to some, but to Les it held all kinds of neat secrets. Places that needed further inspection and examination. Roads not much more than 2-tracks, but took him to caves, old mines, landscapes with different and bizarre cacti, animals, snakes including rattlers. Yikes. He bought books and studied cacti and areas of the desert, always learning and respecting it’s sheer magnitude. Exploring pretty much everything which wasn’t found in Iowa. He loved it! Les learned early you never, and I do mean ever, go to the desert by yourself. Always more than one person in a car, and more importantly, always more than one car. (This after his first ‘desert car’ a Tracker had to be towed 80 miles).

The entrance to my day in the desert, 2017…

Often Les went with his crew, other times the gals would go along. Exploring the surrounding desert got to be a pretty regular occurrence. Les learned when the desert would change and virtually come alive. Usually the month of March, the cacti get kind of show-offy and start blooming like crazy. I’m very disappointed to miss blooming time in the desert. Mary Jane says it’s simply stunning and pictures don’t do it justice. My problem? I really don’t need to be gone from Michigan in March. We have some decent days, snow starts melting, the days get longer and life outside is sometimes bearable. Barely. I need to get away sometime between January 15 and March 1st, which feels like about 6 months. Minimum. Honest. February is the longest, shortest month we have.

Thumb Butte, always around…

After we arrived, Mary Jane (our social director) put things in perspective. Dentist first, everything else to follow. My initial visit with Marco, the Mexican dentist, included 3 hours of prep work, we then had a week to fritter away before the crowns and bridge were ready. What else could we do besides sight see and eat, right? Let’s not forget the Margarita’s. Jane’s an expert concocting those little gems.

I don’t know why I just assumed it would be Les, his crew and John heading out to the desert. Call me dumbfounded when Les looked right at me and asked, “do you want to go out to the desert with us?” My quick wit was warping through my head with the speed of sloth and I nearly blurted, “aren’t we already in the desert?” Luckily I caught my slow self and said “sure” instead. Les talked to some of his neighbors (mostly Canadian couples) and by the time the desert day dawned on me, we had 4 Jeeps heading out to-not even sure where we were going. But I was included.

Little sentries lined up…

Since I hadn’t planned on a day in the desert with Les, I wasn’t prepared. Keen sandals on my feet when everyone else wore socks and shoes. Les’ jeep is a two door and pretty high off the ground. Mary Jane’s had both knees replaced yet she somehow managed to nimbly hop up behind the front seat, snake her way to the other seat, while John noisily hoisted this little heifer with some of his blood, sweat & tears. And some bad words. I might have mooed. And snorted. And swore. It wasn’t pretty.

They seem to multiply like bunnies…

After driving out of Yuma (my built in GPS has not started working yet in Arizona so I have no idea which direction we were going. Plus I give not a shit). Les, leader of the pack, pulled off the hiway and stopped. Everyone got out of their 4-wheel drives. I felt like I was on a cliff, the ground was so far, far away. Hubs finally just grabbed me and set me down. Hard. While Mary Jane patiently waited to spring forth after the clod-me. I looked at the flat, bland surroundings and thought we’d hike a half mile, turn around and drive back to civilization. Everyone smiled at each other, drank a couple sips of water-AND CLIMBED BACK INTO THEIR VEHICLES. We weren’t even close to anywhere yet. Just kill me now. I tripped up the nine endless feet into the back seat and boinked my head on the soft top.

Unknown species to this gal. Pretty…

Our destination was Kofa National Wildlife Refuge. Established in 1939 to protect Desert Bighorn Sheep, it’s part of the Yuma and Sonoran Deserts and includes 1.5 million acres. And yes we covered them all. Kidding, but we did go about 15 miles in on what might be loosely called a road. It did have a gravel base, but pretty big rocks were everywhere. And our jeep rode over everyone of those puppies. I kept track. But Les, our fearless leader did take the road seriously. And pretty slow.

Typical road. Shaking my temporary crowns right out of my mouth!

The first stop ended up being the only one I regretted for the day (besides getting in and out of the dang jeep a half dozen times). It’s called Copper Cup Mine, and you could see all the way through it. I should have just enjoyed the view and not attempted going through. In my defense, I was either the youngest person there or close to it. Couldn’t be embarrassed and choose not to participate. Pride, it’s ugly at times. First off, there were steep little peaks and valleys loaded with slippery rocks just getting to the mine. Sandals were not the right footwear. I slipped and slid to the entrance. Les handed me a flashlight and said he was going first to make sure we didn’t find a napping rattle snake. It was dark, and the floor was full of uneven stones. My balance is wobbly at best, and I found myself grasping for the walls to keep my balance. I didn’t fall, but didn’t come out unscathed either. Lots of little cuts on my hands and wrists.

Les and Brian halfway through Copper Cup Mine. Sharp, jutting sides…

I never knew there are so many mountains around Yuma, when the whole area is virtually surrounded by mountains. It’s quite breathtaking. Throughout our day at Kofa, a constant was this one mountain called Thumb Butte. It remained in our view most of the day on one side of us or another. Les mentioned it several times and I’d have to search until I spotted it again.

Large brown rock like mountains against the cloudy sky…

The variety of cactus was simply amazing. While some species seemed to share real estate, several seemed to claim some acres to themselves. And in that little snippet of desert it would be about the only kind we would see for a spell. Giant Saguaros with limbs and appendages reaching skyward. I believe they don’t start those little growth spurts until they hit puberty which is like 70 in human years.

Limbs a-plenty on this giant Saguaro…

Teddy Bear Chollas cactus, now they’re a trip. They look all fuzzy and warm standing about 3 feet tall. On the ground near every one of them resembles the old woman who lived in a shoe. Dozens of cuddly babies that roll off mama and just sit there on the ground. Waiting. For some wind or maybe few drops of rain to get them rooted where they start their own family.

Sure looks warm and fuzzy. Not…

Then there’s the spindly, lovely green Ocotillo. Kind of bush-like, they grow quite tall. There were a couple Ocotillos we saw that were clearly ahead of schedule, because they were starting to bloom. Just the tips of a few of the tops were turning bright orange with little flowers.

The babies just waiting to put down roots…

The Red Barrel cactus stood out because of his color, but they’re weren’t as many of them in Kofa. Les has one of in his yard. OK, funny side story. This year has been really odd because Yuma’s had so much rain. Usually while Les and Jane winter here, they might encounter one or two rains adding up to about a quarter of an inch. This year Yuma’s had 6 rains. Thus the desert, even the shoulders along the hi ways are a lush green when they’re usually drab brown. But green isn’t always good either. When this low green ground cover dies, it’s a fire hazard which can be very dangerous and deadly. After a couple of rains this winter, Les (or more likely MJ) decided the windows were dusty and dirty and needed washing. Les and his trusty ladder got nominated. Well, Les took a tumble and landed smack dab in his Red Barrel Cactus. Poor little cactus lost 13 of his sweet little quills to Les’ back. So Mary Jane had to remove them because it’s illegal to wear those quills in Arizona. Ok, I’m done with cacti.

Quite a burst of color on the Red Barrel…

I was kind of bummed about the wildlife part of Kofa. The first 2 hours I saw one tiny gecko dart across the road in front of our jeep. But the animals finally showed up after we stopped at the fancy restaurant where the road ended. Really there was no restaurant, but we brought Subway sandwiches, water and pop. Loosely sat in a circle of nice shade and enjoyed a nice hour of visiting.

John, Les, me and Brian during our restful lunch…

Since there’s only one road, we had to return the same way we went in, but you see totally different plants and landscapes because I was looking on the other side of the road. On top of a gnarly tree, I finally spotted a bird. He looked like a Cardinal with that cute tuft on top of his head, but he was completely jet black. After I got home, I looked him up and sure enough, it was a Northern Phainopepla. But the animal angels saved the best for last. We were a couple of miles away from the entrance of Kofa when I yelled, “Les, stop!” Just ahead and to our right was a Big Horn Sheep. Les slammed on the brakes not knowing what was wrong. Then Les, John and Jane noticed him. He took off across the road in front of us. Followed quickly by 2 more Big Horns. They started up a small hill, stopped midway and watched us. Through 9 years of desert days with Les, Mary Jane has never seen a Big Horn. The Sheep stood there for a few minutes, facing uphill, with their butts in our full view. Sorry about that. I asked them to please turn around and pose nicely for the camera. Their response, “kiss my ass.” No matter. A fabulous day. Again. Me, the forever doubting Thomas had the best time ever. It’s been a week since my day in the desert, and I think my left kidney has finally slipped back to where God originally intended it reside, more or Les…

Hard to see, so I zoned in on their butts (the little white specks)…

We’re in Arizona for 2 weeks, visiting Hubs brother Les and sister-in-law Mary Jane. They bought a place in Yuma 9 years ago and have been spending several months a year in this nice warm climate. For those of you who don’t know what an Iowa winter is like, don’t ask. Or worse yet, try one to see how much you enjoy it. Trust me when I say about 99% of Iowans are fiercely loyal to their beloved Hawkeye state, but in order to maintain sanity, keep your fingers and toes intact, most would leave that state in a heartbeat for anywhere warm during their endless winter. We’ve been invited to visit, and decided the time was right. But I’m missing 2 of Landon’s basketball games, and yes I’m feeling the guilt. Counting on Shannon and Tracey to message me through the game.

The Yuma Territorial Prison, 1876. The stone work is beautiful…

Let me get our first day here out of the way. It was long for all of us. It all started with this dang tooth of mine nearly 2 years ago. I don’t have good teeth. If I were a horse, I’d have been put down decades ago. Nobody’s fault. Mom always sent me to my favorite dentist, Doc Schroeder. And I’m a faithful with my brushing, and flossing to the point I drive my family nuts. Every time I eat anything, I have to bush my teeth. Mouth is full of bridges where little particles get stuck and drive my tongue and head to distraction. I faithfully carry toothpaste, brush, dental pick and floss in my purse and lunch bag at work.

The guards tower. There were several escapes, botched and successful…

I had this root canal tooth that broke off at my gum line. Went to the dentist with the idea I’d probably have to sink a couple grand in a new bridge. Not so fast Neese. Bridges are a thing of the past. Not hip or cool. They hurt the integrity of the teeth on either side. (I guess I’m rather short on integrity with my mouth and teeth). Now we do implants. No, not the boob kind, the toothy kind. They did their hard sell this way. You get the tooth pulled and have a bone graft which takes a few months to heal (so you can keep paying). Then they start the implant which takes several months (so you can keep paying). By the time 18 months have passed, you have a beautiful permanent tooth for $4,600.00. (But that’s ok because you’ve had so many months to pay).

The Dark Hole. Solitary was horrible in this cage…

There’s just no way I can spend $4,600.00. ON ONE TOOTH. Enter Mary Jane. Since residing in Yuma part time for the last few years, she got acquainted with a fabulous dentist in Mexico, about 20 miles away. A mere pittance compared to American dentistry. And he went to school in Michigan. Well hook me up, Sista. Which is exactly what she did after she heard what I needed done. We crossed the border by 8:30 and I was getting the prep work for a couple of crowns and new bridge by 10. Temporaries are in place until next week. Thanks MJ. Now back to my jail house story.

Room without a view. Each cell housed 6 men in this tiny room…

We started off our second day by meeting a large group for breakfast at a local senior resort park Clubhouse. Those in attendance? All Iowans. What a hoot! About 40 folks showed up. Right here in Yuma. One lady I’ve thought about several times over the years, but hadn’t seen for a half century. She was an elementary grade school teacher of mine when I was very young. Her name is Myrna Ver Hoef.

The crimes they committed. Some were such minor infractions…

Now most of my teachers were never of great importance to me. I was a lazy, do-as-little-as-possible student during my reign of terror school days. The social aspect was vitally important to me, the study part, not so much. One of my many regrets. But Mrs. Ver Hoef played a very important role in my life. She happened to be my second grade teacher, which is the year I lost my 12 year old brother, Larry. Myrna showed me so much love and compassion that year. Way beyond necessary and far above her piddly pay grade I’m sure. It was lovely to see her and we hope to get together again before I leave.

The Yuma Territorial Prison Band. Unbelievable…

After meeting scads of people, enjoying food and fellowship, Les suggested we tour a rather famous prison. The Yuma Territorial Prison is right off the interstate. It looks as though it was carved right out of the rocky hillside. It was. The prison opened in 1876, before Arizona was even a state, thus the Territorial part. The charter members of this exclusive club were especially lucky. They were selected to build the prison that would house themselves. Fun. During the 33 years this facility remained open, about 3,000 men and 29 women would spend some serious time in Yuma Territorial Prison. Although primitive, the prison had many modern conveniences not yet available to the general public, including electricity and forced ventilation system with running fans! The library boasted 2,000 books. There were 2 bathtubs and 3 showers. Everyone got a shower once a week whether they needed it or not. All the modern conveniences. Until you noticed the actual prison part, which was known as the Hell Hole.

Interesting stats they kept…

There was one cell in the side of the rocky hill for serious offenders. Maybe the first solitary confinement. Called the ‘dark cell,’ it was more like a cave. The only light it offered was through a small vent hole in the roof. Unless you well were under 5 feet tall, standing upright was impossible. The occupants (sometimes more than one offender) were fed only bread and water once a day. No bathroom facilities of any kind, the place smelled absolutely horrible. The guards would regularly toss snakes and scorpions down the vent hole for laughs. The prison on a whole was insufferable. The desert heat made it feel like an inferno. The prison was surrounded by rivers, quick sand and the endless desert. Ball and chains were attached to many legs.

Ball and chain, no joke…

The cells were minuscule, and housed 6 guys per unit. The metal bunks looked about 30 inches wide, 3 to a stack. No mattress, just a hard board with about 2 feet in between the other stack of 3. Gravel floor, one little piss pot to do your business. We had to duck to get into the women’s section, which I think housed only 2 gals to a room. The warden and guards seemed quite ill-at-ease with the women prisoners. Like they didn’t quite know what to do with them. One of the ladies, Pearl Hart wound up pregnant during her stint in Yuma and gave birth to a darling baby boy who remained with his mommy for 2 years. I believe the governor pardoned her just to be rid of her. The guards wrote how relieved they were when mom and toddler was released because she was such a trouble maker. Nobody missed Pearl, but everyone missed her little boy!

Pearl Hart looks innocent enough, but she was a piece of work…

Some of the crimes and misdemeanors were almost laughable, unless you’d already been convicted and sentenced for it. One guy was sentenced because he refused to marry the judge’s homely daughter. Adultery, seduction, selling booze to Indians, prize fighting, polygamy. Crazy stuff. The youngest inmate was 14, the oldest 88.

One male lifer, when not visiting The Dark Cell, knit these beauties…

The Yuma Territorial Prison closed in 1909 when a new state prison was erected in Florence, Arizona. Yuma then used the prison from 1910-1914, wait for it-as their local High School. Story goes that Phoenix High School meandered down for a football game during Yuma’s stint of prison turned high school. Yuma was teased unmercifully, especially when Yuma score and went ahead. Phoenix started taunting Yuma, yelling, “Criminals, Criminals! ” Over and over. Well, the joke was on Phoenix. Yuma loved the name and adopted it as their team motto. Kept it over a hundred years now, though usually shortened to just “The Crims!” The high school’s merchandise shop is aptly named, “The Cell Block.” Clever. Go Crims!!

The name stuck since 1910. Love it. Yuma High Criminals…

Who knew all this history lurking near the hi way in Yuma? Certainly not this Iowa/Michigan grandma. I was truly fascinated by our little one hour stop at Yuma’s Territorial Prison. Consider this your history lesson for the day. Next up, a lesson concerning deserts. You’re welcome…

Ha-ha! The Yuma High School 2016 Wrestling Team. Go Crims…

I equate this little blip in the long marriage to Hubs like buying a 3 dollar ticket for a quickie trip aboard the SS Minnow. You know, just a 3 hour tour. Iowa’s economy was in the tank in 1986. About the first time ever we had to consider moving out of the state. We had looked at Minnesota and South Dakota during our first 2 decades of wedded bliss, yet every time John looked for another’s job or was downsized, somehow we always managed to stay in Iowa. Never gave it much thought that we would ever leave. And if we did leave, surely we would return when Iowa’s economy rebounded.

We thought our gig in Michigan would be temporary…

Never in my wildest dreams did I think Michigan would become home ‘home.’ I’m an Iowan, not a Michigander or Michiganian. Those aren’t even real words are they? We had never planted very deep, or long lasting roots, moving around Iowa for about 20 years after we got hitched. Yet, we landed in Jackson, Michigan in February, 1987. Thirty years ago this week. I wanted to stay in Big 10 country. But I never thought it would become our permanent home.

Our first house in Jackson, 1987…

None of us were exactly thrilled with another move. We all loved Davenport, especially Shannon and I. We had the most to lose. Shannon had just turned 16 and gotten her license. She was popular, a cheerleader, taking accelerated classes and had a cool boyfriend. I had a group of friends like I’d never had before or since. Yup, we were both devastated. Joshua was 11, Adam was 7, both were pretty loosey-goosey. John had been working in Michigan for a few months already. He flew back to Iowa every couple weeks or we’d come to Michigan for a long weekend. Staying at the Holiday Inn was a big treat for all of us except John, who was tired of hotel life. The pool, room service, a restaurant, big perks for young boys who were easily impressed. And always hungry.

Adam and Josh right after we moved to Michigan, 1987…

I already told you the story about our house and neighborhood, so I’m not going to rehash that. The rambling ranch was about 25 years old with an acre lot, on the outskirts of Jackson. About a week after we moved (mid-February) my sister-in-law Mary Jane called to see how the unpacking was progressing. We had tons more snow on the ground than Iowa did at the time, but that first weekend after our move, it was sunny and 60 something. Told her that I had plopped my camping cot on the back step and was laying out in the sun. Surrounded by snow and with my socks on. A week later and another 18 inches of snow would curtail this activity for quite a few weeks.

The family when we arrived in Michigan, 1987…

Second grader Adam said one of the the cutest things after moving to Jackson. Must have been in late March or early April. The days and nights were finally getting warmer, and during breakfast one morning he happened to look out of the dining room window and stated incredulously, “Mom, I didn’t know we had grass under all that snow!”

Joshua and Adam in our hot tub on McCain Road, 1990…

With every year that passes, I grow ever closer to the point where I’ve lived more of my life in Michigan than my beloved Iowa. All the deep rooted feelings I have for my home state haven’t garnered the hearts of my kids. When I look at it from their perspective, it’s understandable. But from a mom who remains homesick for her home state, I can’t fathom that Michigan is much more their home than Iowa. Goodness, Adam’s lived here 4 times longer than he did in Iowa. How is that even possible? So how in the world did a 5 year pit stop turn into 30 years? It doesn’t feel like it’s been 30 years. Maybe 10. Father Time always seems to be running fast when I want him to run just a bit behind schedule for a change.

Grandma Mag visiting us in Jackson. With Adam and Josh, 1989…

My granddaughter Ariana just became a mommy. I told her the last month of pregnancy was endless, but afterwards life goes at warp speed. She swore the time was standing still. And it does feel like that when you’re 9 months pregnant and want it over so badly. This week, our little princess Jovi is 3 weeks old already, when it seems like she was born yesterday.

Our newest member, Jovi Marie, 3 weeks old, 2017…

The Michigan adventure has been very good for and to us. It’s pretty unusual for a family with 3 grown children, in laws, 4 grandchildren and 1 great grand living relatively close. We’re all within about 60 miles from each other, but it’s not like we see them constantly. We give them space and they do the same for us. But it’s been really neat to be in the middle of things after living 175 miles west of them for 20 years. Watching Graham in a pinch and working on craft projects, driving Peyton and Landon here and there. Seeing Jovi every few days instead of once a month. Things we couldn’t do when we were in North Muskegon.

I love watching Peyton dance…

I believe if the kids were scattered all over the United States, we certainly would not be spending our retirement in mid-Michigan. And as much as I adore Iowa, their weather leaves much to be desired. I’m not sure that’s where we’d be hanging our hats either. Probably somewhere where 40 degrees is a low, but not too hot either. Moot point. No place on earth we’d rather be than right here.

Nothing better than watching Landon play ball, 2016…

Although our kids have all lived more years in Michigan than Iowa, they certainly aren’t cemented in Michigan. I’m kind of surprised they all stayed here this long. Two of the kids are business owners, so doubtful either would just up and move across the country. Adam is head chef at a fancy restaurant in Ann Arbor. His restaurant is owned by a corporation, he could possibly move just about anywhere. But since our whole family is a stones throw away, so is Sarah’s. They love Graham’s school, just bought a home, and Sarah’s got a great job so I don’t see them moving anytime soon. More than likely Hubs and I will spend the rest of our days in Michigan. If I live long enough where my Iowa/Michigan balance of years lived swings towards the mitten state, (which isn’t that far away-a mere 8 more years) I’m good with that. But my heart will always belong to Rock Valley and the great state of Iowa…

Graham fishing with Adam, 2016…

It’s been 2 weeks and I’ve not been able to stop singing the lyrics from ‘I’m a Believer’ by the Monkees. I might have an issue. And it started long before meeting my brand new great granddaughter Jovi, about the same time. When I laid eyes on her, I immediately thought of the words to this song’s chorus. But this ordeal started 50 years ago when I fell in love with Neil Diamond. Sorry Hubs. The Monkees hit was # 1 for several weeks in 1966. But the song was originally written and sung by Neil.

Which reminded me of the best quotes from one of my favorite movies, What About Bob? Bob (Bill Murray) is a psychiatric patient of Dr. Leo Marvin (Richard Dreyfuss). Doc is getting some history on his new whack job patient, and inquires about Bob’s marital status. This is Bob’s response: “there are 2 types of people in this world. Those who like Neil Diamond, and those who don’t. My ex-wife loves him.” Pretty much sumsup my life for me. I’d be Bob’s ex-wife.

What about Bob? starring Cubs fan, Bill Murray…

I’m a Believer (written by my main squeeze, Neil Diamond)
I thought love was only true in fairy tales,
meant for someone else but not for me.
Love was out to get, that’s the way it seemed,
Disappointment haunted all my dreams.

Josh & Erica at an MSU football game, 2013…

This fairy tale started in 2011. Joshua called and said he was bringing someone home to meet us for Christmas. This wasn’t earth shattering news. He was 35 and dated seriously enough over the years to bring home some gals. But this one seemed different even before we met her. He wanted everything to be perfect. Yeah, good luck with that Josh. We’re a normal, messy family. Well, mostly normal besides this freaky Neil Diamond obsession.

Neil, words not necessary here…

Chorus
Then I saw her face, now I’m a believer
Not a trace of doubt in my mind.
I’m in love, umm, I’m a believer,
I couldn’t leave her if I tried!

Josh & Erica, a night on the town in Detroit, 2015…

Her name is Erica, and she was close to Josh’s age. Both in their mid-30’s, neither had been married or had children. Odd in this day and age. She was articulate, pretty, funny and smart. Hailing from Pennsylvania and graduating from MSU with a degree in manufacturing engineering. She was a senior engineer at Nissan Corp. in Detroit. Josh had already been a business owner for more than a decade in Detroit. I could see this was serious and special.

They wear happiness well…

Sure enough, a couple months later they were engaged. They knew it and weren’t messing around. They decided on a destination wedding. I never heard of such a thing. Clueless. They originally looked at Cabo, Mexico as their destination, but after checking resorts and flights, started having second thoughts. Not about getting married, no they were hung-ho, but both felt Cabo was kinda pricey. They decided Cancun was less expensive, thus more friends and family could share their day.

Big Spartan fans. Sigh…

The big date was set for November 16, 2012, giving friends and family plenty of time to ‘save the date.’ John and I were really excited about the wedding. We thought Josh was a confirmed bachelor and were happy because he was so happy!

November 16, 2012, Cancun…

Josh and Erica chose an all-inclusive resort called Dreams. Inclusive meaning once you get there, there’s is no reason to ever leave. (So how come I’m no longer there I wonder?) The resort sported several restaurants, 5 rings a bell, ranging from a buffet the size of my house to smaller venues, specializing in seafood or Italian. Plus tiny pub like or tiki bars at 10 foot intervals. A couple of pools, and this amazing body of brilliant blue water called the Caribbean. Wow. Dreams also included a pool where folks could swim with the dolphins. Literally. Landon and Peyton did this. The resort itself was big and included a humongous amount of beach front. End to end, between a quarter to half a mile of sidewalks.

I got this…

The biggest excitement of our fabulous trip happened before we boarded our direct flight to Cancun, which was at 9 am on a Saturday from Detroit Metro. About 200 miles from North Muskegon. Makes for a very early morning, so we decided to stay at a hotel near the airport on Friday night. We were maybe a mile from the airport, the address was Romulus. It’s about 1 am, we’re both sound asleep (I can’t hear squat laying on my good ear and without my hearing aid). John pokes me hard in the ribs and says, “did you just hear gunshots?” Filled with fog I muttered, “ah, no I can’t hear anything. You sure it’s not fireworks?” “No way, I can tell the difference between firecrackers and a 9 millimeter!” He jumps out of bed, strides to the room’s large window (in his undies) and pulls back the drapes. Several thugs are standing by our pickup about 10 feet away, arguing heatedly. He closes the drapes, races over, and starts pulling on clothes. (Hold on there little doggie). The voice of reason (me) convinces him to dial 911 before charging out the door. The 911 dispatcher says cops are already on their way. After breaking up the fight (over girls) most of the group are arrested and hauled away. Somehow sleep would elude us for the rest of the night however. We could have just as well slept in our own bed until 3 and drove to Detroit. Great start for vacation. Next stop, Cancun.

Happy couple in paradise, 11-16-12…

I admit my first morning I was taken aback. I woke at the crack of dawn, waited for light to come and put on my walking duds, headphones and headed outdoors. A big share of the resort was out of doors. Many of the long hallways were not enclosed. Once on the sidewalk but still inside the resort area, I walked until I ran into the last bar. There stood an armed guard in a casual business uniform, hat, walkie-talkie and a gun. He watched me and gave a small nod as I turned around. I saw him say something in the walkie-talkie. As I got closer to the other edge of Dreams, there was another guard with matching paraphernalia. He smiled, nodded and said something into his microphone. Both guards did this every morning, for every lap I walked. Talked back and forth every time I went past. Probably drove them crazy, but made me feel better they were there. I guess there are drug cartels somewhat close, and if you’re gonna pay big bucks to stay at a resort, a nice amenity is to remain safe. And alive.

My favorite shot of Erica in the buffet line, 11-16-12…

Let me share a couple of oddities about this lovely resort. Almost everything that wasn’t sand was covered in beautiful patterns of tile. The long hallways leading to and from different restaurants, pools and bars were not enclosed. They are swept constantly but became slippery when 3 raindrops fell. Pretty sure I can say with certainty, Mexico has no OSHA (Occupational Safety & Health Administration) as part of their government. On these stunning tiled walkways were steps. Randomly placed. You might walk for 30 feet, then encounter 3 small steps going up or down. I cannot remember seeing or using one railing anywhere in the resort. Walk 40 feet and another 2 odd sized steps. To reach the elevator there was about 10 steps before the doors. No railing, but there was a ramp (could have been used for dirt bike trails, it was that steep, causing your rolling suitcase to move at warp speed). None of the steps had any markings whatsoever, which John discovered. By accident. We were on our way for breakfast at the house sized buffet (amazing and delicious, tons of fresh fruit, plus anything else you might want). A couple walking towards us smiled and said hi as they got close. John looked to greet them and missed 2 small steps. Down he went. I believe it was our second day. Sure he cracked a rib, but it could have been worse. But it did hamper some of the things we had planned.

So happy together…

In the huge buffet restaurant there were several beautiful live palm trees. Planted just below the gorgeous tile floor, but without any kind of guard, edge or border. Just went from tile floor to dirt for the tree roots with a 4 inch drop, each about 2 square foot. If you were carrying a plate a food and not watching the floor constantly you were asking for a broken ankle or leg.

Making it legal…

A couple of days before their Friday afternoon wedding, Josh and Erica planned a scuba diving trip. What in heaven’s name ever possessed me to heartily say, “sure I’m in,” I will never know. John said yes too, but after his nasty spill, the 40 pounds of equipment wrapped tight around his chest caused him to back out. Leaving the 3 of us with a young, extremely handsome, professional diver. First we walked out on a very wide, slippery old wooden dock. The water is about 8 feet deep and a very beautiful baby blue this close to shore. This is where we’ll learn how to breathe and maneuver underwater, carrying 40 pounds of oxygen on your back and wearing flippers. Lord, help me here, I might have been a bit hasty in my decision making and thought process. Our handsome hunk guide (forever forward known as HHG) moves from one clueless person to the next. Explaining, encouraging and patiently teaching. Josh seems to ‘get it’ and is doing great, just under the water, moving about gracefully. Jerk. Meanwhile the Beluga whale, also known as Mom, is thrashing hopelessly, helplessly while others are being taught the art of staying alive under water. It’s a beautiful sunny day, with a little wind. Curiously, that bit of wind carries me precariously close to that high, wide dock. Each little wave sends me further from the group. Soon I find myself underneath the dock, very close to our boat which is securely tied about 6 feet away. I try and turn around to see if anyone’s watching Neese disappear or crash into the boat when I glance up. About a foot above my bobbing head, just barely under the dock are spikes. Long, slender nails that keep the dock boards in place. Holy shit. If a wave catches me just right, one of those little puppies could pierce my noggin all the way to my throat. Suddenly I’m sluicing my way backwards to safety by HHG. That was close. Really close. Pretty sure HHG thinks so too. He personally beaches this whale on the boat, takes care of the rest of the divers and crew and away we go.

Water colors were phenomenal…

It’s not a long ride. The water we’re diving in is about 20 feet deep. HHG gently explains we each need to sit on the edge of the boat and fall into 20 foot deep Caribbean Sea. Backwards. Oh my, I surely will never live to tell this tale. But I did. HHG waits until I grab the rope leading us down to the bottom. Erica is right beside me. I never noticed the other paying patrons again except for Josh moving about like a dolphin. Geesh. When Erica and I reached the end of our rope (ha-ha, but did not seem so funny then) HHG grabbed one of my hands and one of Erica’s. He never let go of me. Never. Guess he had a rep to maintain and didn’t want the paperwork involved with my death. (Maybe there would be no paperwork) He cautiously pointed to exquisite fish lazily swimming by, letting go of Erica’s hand for a couple seconds at a time. But never my hand. After the spikes nearly got me, this was a piece of cake. I remember looking up at the water surface and seeing waves ripple by. Which affected the plants swaying. That part was so neat. Loved spotting different fish, the water swaying, the reality that I was walking on the bottom of The Caribbean. (HHG did have to keep pulling me back down. You kinda just start floating up, at least I did or maybe it was part puffer fish panic attack, but I thought I was pretty calm for nearly dying). But it’s not anything I would ever do again. Memorable though. And a good memory.

The Hubs…

One afternoon I was in search of Hubs. He was sitting at a small bar facing the Caribbean, drinking something tinged light green. I sat beside him and he offered me a sip. Most of you know how rarely I drink. Never liked the feeling of not being in control. Or cared for the taste of booze. I took a sip and sputtered, blech, salt. But the drink part was kinda good. John ordered one for me with a sugar rim instead of salt. Tasty. Soon Shannon came and sat beside me. Looked me squarely in the face and queried, “hey mom, are you ok?” “Sure,” I slurred, “I can’t feel my nose.” She grabbed my arm and marched me to our room (oh how times have changed in 30 plus years) where I took a nice, long nap.

Wow…

Of the 45 friends and family vacationing for a wedding, Hubs and I had the nicest room. Best view ever.

The view from our room…

The wedding was lovely, the dinner, and dancing a lot of fun. Two things. I had never before had Tres Leche Cake (milk cake which contains whole, sweetened condensed, evaporated milk and real whipped cream. Delicious doesn’t describe it very well. Or gone into a photo booth wearing goofy garb for silly pictures to capture the moment. I loved both.

Josh schmoozing with Shannon, mom and dad…

Seems like yesterday, but November, 2017 will mark J & E’s 5th anniversary. Thanks for all the great memories guys. Let’s do that again…

My favorite shot of the night, J & E, bumping butts, 11-16-12…