McCain Road...

When we moved to Jackson, Michigan in 1987, we bought a ranch on the outskirts of town. A nice neighborhood which was a big loose oblong circle consisting of about 50 homes. Most of the homes were built in the 50's for mid-level executives working for Consumer's Power Company. The landscaping was overgrown and hiding the house. This could hardly be called the green, green grass of home. And it was summertime. Something John was compelled to repair. Right away. He was mortified how bad the yard looked. Not an easy fix. But fix it he did.

Mag VB admiring lousy grass, over grown shrubs

O Tannenbaum...

My Christmas tree is coming down for another year. I really enjoy having it up, but I get twitchy after Christmas and want my living room "back to normal." I've never minded people who put up their decorations early. The ones that drive me a little nuts are those who cling to their tree and outside lights through January, sometimes February. Time to move on folks. This is about my fascination with ornament collections, and growing to love my Christmas tree. (A favorite, my Lladro collection. Kinda pricey which is why there's only 3)

 

Lladro's

The Middle...

Joshua. Our middle kid. Only one of the 3 who arrived on his due date without much fuss or fanfare. His name was the only one we did not have to compromise on. We both loved the name Joshua. He had so much beautiful hair I took pictures of the back of his head. Probably got all that hair from the strange cravings during my pregnancy. Lemon meringue pie and sauerkraut. Not always at the same time, but more often than not. I could and did eat whole cans of sauerkraut. Usually right out of the can, cold. Kind of surprised I still like both those foods. Though Josh arrived on time, he was pokey with everything else. I guess the word is contented. He was not in a hurry to do anything too soon. Crawl, walk, or talk. Except get rid of his bottle. From day one on this earth he always preferred his thumb. At 8 months he gave his bottle a major league toss across the room, strongly indicating he was done with that thing.

Joshua 1976

Kind of Hush...

It started in 1998. My life changed. I woke up several days in a row and just felt different, strange. Couldn't put my finger on anything specific. Not physically sick, but I felt weird, especially my head. Head felt full and crowded. Not the typical spot people usually insinuate where I'm full of it. Went to see my family doctor. She found nothing wrong. She referred to a local eye, ear, nose, throat specialist, Dr. Fox. After some tests, he concluded I was suffering from a temporary or permanent hearing loss in my left ear. He wanted me to try some prescription steroids. Sometimes massive doses of steroids will kick start a nerve that's gone off the reservation in your ear. You start gradually, increasing the steroid amount per day, then decrease just as slowly. So this wasn't a quick fix. Took a couple months before I was done taking them. Unfortunately there was no change. Notice how well my hearing is in this picture.

Me and Shannon, 1992. Perfect divinity!!!

Lake Shoakatan...

Mom and Dad tried camping when I was a kid. Maybe some kind of bonding therapy after Larry had been killed. Mona was married and out of the house. They bought this tiny camper and decided our family should experience the joy and quiet contentment of the great outdoors. I don't remember a family meeting deciding that the Black Hills (since none of us had ever been there) would be the destination of our first ever camping trip. So where did the Gerritson's choose to go on their great family adventure? Let's go to Minneapolis! The biggest city within 300 miles. What on earth were they thinking? Mom, who dusted the dining room and kitchen floors on her hands and knees DAILY. Camping-really? This was way too primitive a life style for her. It would be the only time we used the camper. It disappeared from the back yard not long after that strange trip.

 

1962. Neese in camping clothes???

Barb...

Nothing about me has ever been elegant. I've never had an ounce of fru-fru in me. Wasn't really a tomboy, but didn't care for ruffles and lace either. In high school I thought my short cheerleading skirts were really cute. But I always hated garter belts, nylons, slips, skirts, fancy shoes and dresses. I haven't worn a dress or heels since Shannon got married in 1998. I'm more comfortable in a Nike t-shirt and jeans with my Keens's and Merrell's. Sweats at home are even better. I do admire women who are feminine, and dress to the nines. I'm just not one of them.

At John's house, 1965. Hand knit sweater from Mom...

 

Landon Andrew...

Labor Day weekend, 2000. We were headed to Lansing, 100 miles away to meet Shannon and Ariana for breakfast at Cracker Barrel. Our son-in-law Tracey was in Jackson for the day, doing something at school where he was an elementary school teacher and the boy's high school varsity basketball coach. Shannon was about 9-1/2 months pregnant. Hot, miserable and swollen, her moods no longer needed defining. Crabby (I'm being kind here to a much loved daughter) pretty much summed it up. We were halfway through breakfast when Shannon excused herself to the restroom. She came back and said her water had just broke. John leaps up from the table, yells, "move it, let's go, let's go!" Shannon shot him a look that should have ignited the building that hot September morning. "I won't get anything but ice chips once I get to the hospital. I'm eating my pancakes. Sit down!" Alrighty then, let the woman (be nice I reminded myself) finish her meal. We called Tracey, finally headed to the hospital. Once Tracey arrived, we took 9 year old Ari back to their house for awhile. After lunch we drove back to the hospital just in time to see our first grandson, Landon Andrew, who was now all of about 10 minutes old. Ari was totally smitten. Tracey (his first child) was in awe and could not stop his tears. Shannon was happy and thrilled to no longer be pregnant (whew, me too).

 

Ari 9, Shannon and Landon, September 4, 2000...

Rosemary...

Rosemary. I'd noticed her in our church choir. Since most the choir members were of retirement age, she kinda stuck out. Beautiful girl, maybe 40, brown shoulder length hair in soft ringlets, glasses, trim figure. I had no contact with her since she was under my (Parish Visitor) radar of being at least 75. One Sunday morning the choir was doing their glory-to-God-thing, a handsome new guy in front of me set down the clipboard. The clipboard was the church's way to track attendance. You filled out this short questionnaire, then if you didn't show up 6 weeks in a row, inquiring minds would want to know. Could barely make-out Craig something from Boston, a friend of Rosemary's.

 

Rosemary in Hawaii

 

Homebody...

I wasn't always like this. The mere thought of going on a trip used to fill me with delicious anticipation. Giddy, I'd mentally click off my fingers how many days we would be gone. Six days. No cooking for 6 whole days. No cleaning, no beds to change, no homework nagging, no laundry. Well, probably laundry when the kids were small. But I loved taking trips-anywhere. We didn't get away that often. Money was tight on one income with 3 kids. Most trips were to Rock Valley, where both sets of our parents lived. Getting up in years, there was some sense of obligation that we go home when we had time off. Didn't matter cause I was not cooking for 3, or 5 days. Sometimes even a week!

 

One reason I eat at home. My cooking's better...

Willpower...

I thought my proclamation on a public platform would be enough to curb these tendencies. I thought, no I boldly wrote I was done canning until spring. But I'm weak. I have no willpower. Holy moly, I thought it was tough to quit smoking 25 years ago. But this. My shelves are heavily stocked with home canned food in case we get snowed in for 4 months, (could happen, we live in Michigan) suffer an Apocalypse, or Armageddon. Really, what am I gonna do with a hundred-fifty jars of jam? I eat it about once a week. John only eats strawberry and now refuses to let me give any of that kind away. Kids. But those dang raspberries a couple weeks ago at their unreal cheap price, then blackberries, buy 10 cartons, get one free. Like who has a strong enough constitution to pass up those kind of deals? Not me. (See weak and no willpower above) Plus seedless blackberry is my favorite, and I was down to 1 jar. Too close for comfort folks. Making me nervous.

 

Where do I store all my canned goods?

Bye Dad...

Early March, 2008. Dad had just celebrated his 91st birthday and was living in Village at the Oaks for the past several months. The changes were subtle, but I noticed them. His prison ministry, the-most-important-thing-in-his-life, along with preaching at the Rescue Mission and his bible study at the nursing home took on a different meaning. He was desperately hanging on to the things that had meant so much to him during the last 40 years, but his enthusiasm was waning. At times lately, he seemed overwhelmed with his responsibilities.

 

Last Christmas with Dad, 2007. Just before his 91st. birthday...

 

Can it...

Canning. One of my favorite hobbies. It's the steps and the process I enjoy. Maybe I get that from my Dad. The odd step builder. Buying the fruits or veggies, getting out my jars, lids, rings, canner. Repetition. Hearing a jar lid pop puts a goofy smile on my face. I'm so proud of myself when I'm done, sometimes I leave the jars set on the counter for a couple days. Little soldiers in neat rows, wiped clean, all labeled. More likely than not though, it's just my way of avoiding finding a semi-permanent home to store them.

 

Strawberry jam. Storage is a huge issue...

 

Fred...

The title is deceiving. This is mostly about one of my dearest friends. Her real name's Mary Ellen, but that was just way too much name for her in my book. I nicknamed her "Fred" soon after we met.

Rube...

First time I saw him, he was headed down the side aisle at church. Sat about the same place every week. He was tall, debonair, with snow white hair and beautiful blue eyes. After the service he would regularly pick up women (literally, not like in a bar) off their feet and swing them around. Geez, he had to be about 90! He was strong, fit and a lady's man. One Sunday the children of the church were performing a skit. They had asked him to be Goliath, letting David plunk him on th head with his itty-bitty slingshot. He obliged, liked the attention. They had the good sense to have a couple adults nearby to catch him when he fell. Quite a guy.

 

Francis (Rube) celebrating a birthday well into his 90's...

Charlie & Opal...

I met them in 2004. They had stopped coming to church, but Charlie was still driving, doing their banking, getting groceries, taking Opal out to eat and to her hair appointments. Charlie was 96 at the time, his blushing bride of 76 plus years was 94. They got married in January of 1928, months before the devastating stock market crash. They were delightful to visit, but quite reserved. I could tell they had gone through something very painful. But it would take months before they trusted me enough to reveal their hurt parts. Coincidently, they were born the same years as my in-laws. Charlie and Jim were born in 1907, Opal and Mag in 1910. But John's parents passed away in '87 and '94. Charlie and Opal were still going strong. Each would easily pass the century mark. Opal's 100th birthday party in June of 2010. Charlie was 102 in this picture.

Two Fish...

My continuing saga of being Parish Visitor (PV) for more than a decade in two churches. Best job I ever had. I have loved older people since I was very young. But this job managed to have me work for 4 horrible bosses in a row. All were ministers. What are the odds? I'm bitter, full of resentment, and know I need to move past my bad feelings towards them. I'd like to forgive them, and hope by writing the story it will be a therapeutic start. This dude, Two Fish (TF) is the hardest one to get past.

Exquisite house of God, but a political cesspool inside...

 

The Farm...

Can you believe it? For a time this Rock Valley city slicker lived on a FARM. With 2 kids. And no car. Hubby was commuting daily to Cedar Rapids, about 40 miles away. Mid-70's, John had finally escaped the clutches of the 5-whack-brothers in Dyersville. Neither of us felt like this was a permanent situation, so we resisted the urge to move again. Tough on John because his day was long. Commute wasn't fun, even less when driving a junker that required constant attention to make that daily drive. But not exactly a picnic for me either. See above: 2 kids, no car and a driveway from hell.

Hanging out a load of wash. Even outside, they smelled of hogs...

One Fish...

Gonna be upfront with you. I've got issues. I haul around this humongous set of luggage chuck full of guilt and regrets. I have some resentment. Better change some to a lot. About my parents, sister, my former bosses and the church. The Methodist Church. Haven't been a Methodist very long. About 15 years and 4 ministers. My resentment shows up occasionally in my blogs. OK, need to change the occasionally to many. I realize this is unhealthy for me and I need to move on. But I'm quite famous for my grudges. Holding onto them for awhile. No, let's forget awhile. We'll go with years. I'll stop now.

My first stint as Parish Visitor...

Mildred & Charlie...

Mildred wasn't on my "parish visitor list" yet. Close to 80, she was still driving. (part of the problem) But a recent car accident had put her there. I stopped to see how she was doing. She promptly lifted her blouse so I could marvel at the perfect outline of the steering-wheel-bruise on her chest. She was a retired teacher, widowed a few years before, no children. Had a cat named Charlie she had adopted from a friend who moved away.

Mildred, around 2005...

Called...

We were attending a huge, beautiful downtown church that had seen better days. When under construction in the late 1920's, it had come so close to bankruptcy that a handful of families from the congregation invested their own savings to finish the building or the Catholic Church was going to snatch it up. At that time, downtown Muskegon was bustling with retail businesses, lumber barons, doctors and lawyers. These well-to-do folks lived nearby, most of them walking to church on Sunday mornings. Central boasted 3 services, packing the sanctuary with its 1600 members.

Catholic-ville...

Big changes were coming for this little family of three in the year of 1974. Celebrating anniversary # 5. Shannon was 3-1/2 and acquiring all the necessary skills (cooking-cleaning) for me to warm up to the idea of adding to our brood. Me, now a master chef could make: 1. Tuna salad 2. Tuna casserole 3. Coffee.

Shannon 4. Look at her hair length...

Charles-in-charge...

I've always been drawn to "older folks." When I was very young, one of my favorites was my neighbor, Bessie Jacobs. If I was too sick to go to school and Mom was working, I'd stay with Bessie for the day. Then there was the little-off-kilter, but utterly fascinating Rozina Henningfield. She was different, but had very cool stories to share. Kathy came to live at Valley Manor when Mom worked there during my elementary and junior high years. When I'd walk in, Kathy would grab my hand and off we'd go. Stopped in most of the rooms to visit the residents, but I did all the talking.

J & D...

Just tapping out the following first real sentence, especially the 45 part, seems impossible and surreal. I've somehow managed to lose 20 years. Huh, here I was trying to lose 20 pounds. I may want them back soon-years not the pounds. So without further ado: FORTY-FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY, 2 snot-nosed kids from Rock Valley, Iowa, drove to Elk Point, South Dakota in my '68 Ford Mustang (a lemon). This is a picture of us in the mid-70's, so maybe 5 years down, 40 (+we hope) to go.

 

Sabotage Expert...

Mom was used to running the show, and had the starring role. She was also executive producer, so had a lot to say to contents of programming. She adored some of her family, often in a mentally unhealthy way. But if things didn't go according to her plan, even tiny details, watch out. Visits within months of each other from two of her favorite people in the world had Mom getting exactly what she longed and prayed for. Never enough, she shot herself in the foot both times. Unable to stop herself from going so far over the top, it ended the relationship with one of them, and came very close with the other. She needed to be in charge at all times and would not relinquish any control, even for her favorite grandchildren.

2 of Mom's favorites, Shannon 23, Joshua 18, 1993...

Party of 5...

When Shannon was 3, something strange happened. Other people's babies were suddenly cute again. To me that meant one thing: I was ready to have another child. Went off the pill. Still took a few months to get pregnant. That was ok cause Shannon was not quite self-sufficient yet, or very good at cooking supper. Getting there though. But this isn't a story about Joshua, our middle kid. (Don't get a complex Josh, your stories are coming). When Josh turned 3, babies still weren't cute. Instead, he was starting pre-school, and would be gone a couple hours, 2 mornings a week. Shannon was in grade school. I felt a giddy sense of freedom. No more diapers or cribs.

Joshua 3, 1978...

Un-obstructed view...

We were in for some big changes when we moved to Michigan in 1987. One I still can't get used to is Eastern Time Zone. Mid-June it doesn't get dark here until 10:30. Then the news comes on at 11. Just not right.

 

Muskegon's Lighthouse, Lake Michigan...

Sharp Cuts...

We moved to Michigan in 1987. This was by far the best thing ever for our marriage. Put some distance (about 750 miles) between me and the folks. We still saw them often. Mom and Dad were in a competition with each other over our kids, odd quirk of their marriage. They each preferred to visit us alone. Mom came for a visit, Dad stayed home. Whenever one of them returned to Rock Valley, they would make each other jealous by repeating cute grandkid stories, weird, but that's the way they did it. When Dad came he usually had an ulterior motive. Yup, me and the fam were in hot competition with 7,000 inmates at Jackson's prison. We lost every time, but he was happy and fulfilled. He planned months in advance for a speaking engagement there on a Sunday. When he was visiting he often helped with improvements on our house too. Always a good handyman, except for those odd steps of his.

Lots of trees and leaves. Jackson, 1988...

The Boss...

I didn't have many bosses in my life. Last 4 were ministers mind you. Still none of them ever managed to stack up. I was a stay-at-home mom most of my life, and wouldn't change that for anything. Loved being there when the kids got home from school and needed their 4-course-meal-snack-2-hours before supper. The only time I regretted my choice was when I signed up for Social Security. I had earned so little they wanted me to pay them. A tale for another day. This is my story about the best boss I ever had. Mark, the owner of McDonald's in North Muskegon.

Mental-pause-oh...

 

Glanced at the calendar and see I'm celebrating an anniversary of sorts. It's been about 15 years. Hard to tell exactly. The start up date sneaks up on you when you're not paying attention. Too busy with marriage, kids and work. My early-to-mid-40's. Josh and I at his High school graduation, 1993. Where and when it began, ugh.

The Bonus...

 

 

Dad worked for the Iowa State Hi-way Commission over 30 years. He never said he loved the job, but rarely complained about the work. Co-workers at times, but not much about the work. Summers were tough. Hot, humid, pavement blow-ups, but it was the shoulder and ditch mowing duties that got to him. He had acquired several allergies over the years. He would start a sneezing frenzy at the crack-of-dawn. As a kid sound asleep in the bedroom across the hall, I can remember hearing and counting sometimes 30+ sneezes in a row. It was enough to disturb even a teenager sleeping, ugh. Maybe that's why I'm always up at 5. Don't think he ever went to the doctor for allergy tests or relief. He just sneezed his way through a million blue and red work hankies from April to November.

 

Retirement gift from Iowa State Highway Comm, 1981...

Quizzes & Questions...

 

I've got several FB friends who post stuff from different sites. Something I don't normally do. I'm inept, plus I get enough from them cause they know what they're doing. I'm more likely to write about my kid's and grandkid's accomplishments, or take goofy pictures of food, family, tankers or trees. I really like my friends posts though, (Anne, Cindy, Janice and Ari, you know who you are) especially the ones with "mandatory" quizzes that pertain to some of life's deepest and most provocative questions. Here are a few examples:

Decade of Dangers...

Just read a piece on being a kid during the 1970's. According to this hilarious article, they should all be dead now. Major concerns from a lack of government safety regulations, (you mean there was a time when big government didn't control every facet of our lives, really?) plus blaming lackadaisical parents on everything from smoking in the car, (guilty) Lawn Jarts that maimed, (guilty) no seat belts or car seats (guilty) no sun screen. Yada, yada, yada. You know where I'm going with this, right? Well I managed to check off having or doing all 8 accident prone, injury inducing, lacking good parental judgement things, plus a hundred more.

On the farm in 1976, Shannon 6, Josh 1...

Quite Offensive...

There's a certain almost palpable demeanor in some people. Dad didn't have much of a formal education, yet he carried a very quiet confidence. He knew much of the bible frontwards and backwards. Very well versed in the New Testament. Wasn't very fond of those odd-duck-prophets from the Old Testament. So he didn't spend a lot of time studying it. Many of his views were based on his deep faith that he was indeed a child of God, and heaven-bound when his life on earth was done. This can be amazing, inspiring, and kind of ethereal to be around. It just sort of exuded out of him. On the other hand, being in Dad's little realm could be tough to take. Dad's faith and beliefs were so strong, there was NO WAY he could be swayed that his way wasn't the right and only way. He always believed that his sins were forgiven. This is what the bible teaches. To Dad, this meant even if he said or did something offensive, it didn't matter because, ALL HIS SINS WERE ALL FORGIVEN.

Dad in the late 1980's...

Oh Fudge...

 

For the last several years of Mom's life, my trips to Rock Valley were much more frequent. I flew about every 3 months, staying with them about a week at a time. When Mom got non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, she immediately went to the hospital in Sioux Falls to start chemotherapy. The cancer in her chest was fast growing and she was having trouble breathing. But it also responds quickly to treatment. After the initial scary first treatment, she was already breathing better. She was scheduled for quite a few treatments, but after 5, she suffered a stroke. There was definite weakness on one side. That was enough chemo for awhile, the cancer was being held at bay, so Mom went home. That propelled Dad into caregiver service, a job he was neither trained for or ever wanted.

Heading south...

 

 

After Dad had been in Michigan well over a year, he started having some problems. He'd been doing great. Still "preaching and teaching" at the prison, driving himself to church, going out for breakfast everyday, (no never on Sunday's, are 'ya nuts?) but I noticed a couple of troubling things. Even with these clues, I sorta had blinders on cause I didn't want see things going wrong. Guess I was in denial of having my only aging parent with a host of new health issues.

Dad celebrating his last Christmas w/us. 2007

Life lessons...

 

Soon after Dad moved to Michigan, I made him an appointment for a routine physical with our primary care doctor. We'd been with Dr. Anderson for years, liked and respected her, and she had agreed to accept Dad as a patient. She wasn't one to dink around for months trying to figure something out. If you had a foot problem and she was stumped, she'd recommend a podiatrist. She examined Dad and talked to him a little while, then ordered some blood work. After we left her office we drove to the hospital to have the lab work done.

Dad pictured in an interview, 2005...

HB2U...

On July 24, 1946, Larry Wayne was born at home, on the west side of Rock Valley. I wouldn't show up until December of 1950. I also made my debut in our kitchen, on the table. No trips to a modern hospital for us. I don't remember how close Larry was to our older sister Mona, who was born in '43. But once I was potty trained and could keep up with him, Larry and I were good buddies. There were a few kids in our sparse neighborhood, but we played together a lot.

 

Larry 2. Mona 5, sitting on car, 1948...

Petty Crimes...

I was about 40, probably noticing how difficult my teenagers could be when I started reflecting back on my terrible-teens. Terrible two's, what a joke, get real. Little kids, little problems, big kids, well you know the rest. Holy cow, I was an awful teenager. Don't know why. Was I trying to get attention? Gee that's very hard to believe now. The last thing I ever want to be is the center of attention, really. Maybe it was my way of dealing with my loss of Larry. Or how strict and mostly absent Dad was. Add that to how smothering Mom could be. I realized that we shared a very different home life. Just being in my friend's homes told me we weren't like them. At least the part I saw.

 

Neese, 1965 at John's, Rock Valley, Ia.

Hut-fa-duttie...

I'm all Dutch. My maternal great-grandparents immigrated from Holland in the late 1800's. With them they brought their deep belief in God, a hard work ethic, wooden shoes, and their language. Some which still lingers nearly 150 years later. That's pretty amazing. While I wholeheartedly embrace "if you are going to live and work here, please learn our language. Then become citizens, abide by our Constitution, accept and love this country as your own." Part of me loves the fact that in 2014, at least a few words of how they described stuff still lives in me. Not many, and how I wish I had learned more of the Dutch language. I'm really quite surprised by this. Not the part about me not paying closer attention. I was a self-centered spoiled brat. But the part about not learning more just because I heard it so much. I didn't and that's what surprises me. My maternal grandpa Gerrit Wanningen in the middle with his parents (my great-grandparents) and sister Jenny.

 

My great grandparents, grandpa Lakey, and sis, Jenny...

Knit 1, Purl 2...

Mom always excelled at whatever hobby caught her fancy. For a time she was into walking, later bike riding, then for awhile she had beautiful flower gardens. She bought several odd shaped, flat vases, stuck in this green putty stuff with a porcupine like disk stuck on the putty to hold the flower stems in place and arranged flowers.

It's a sign...

Dad was a determined man when it was time to get the "word" out. Once he became a born again Christian, it was his mission in life to do "whatever it takes" so others would be saved too. He set up "tract racks" everywhere. Rock Valley, Sioux City, Sioux Falls, anywhere owners, friends, acquaintances would let him. These were palm-sized Mini-books with a message. How to be a better Christian, How to pray, Uplifting words when you're down and out. Fire and brimstone ones to get you "scared straight," though most tended to be on the positive side. He bought skids of bibles, Good news for Modern Man, The New Testament, The Psalms, study bibles, special bibles designed just for inmates. He had hundreds of his "testimony" printed up.

 

Favorite picture of my Dad. Probably late 1970's...

 

The 3 Amigos...

 

My Mom and Dad, like many long-married couples, had a code. Unspoken and unwritten about routine tasks assigned to each of them. Mom paid the bills, kept track of what was in checking and savings accounts, bought groceries, cleaned relentlessly, decided what they were having for supper or if they were going out to eat.

Dutch Ancestors...

 

My maternal grandparents married in 1924. My grandma, Jacoba Berghuis graduated from high school in Sioux Center Iowa, May 1924. She immediately went to Des Moines for her teaching certificate which she obtained in October the same year, with spectacular grades. That's about 4 months to get her teaching degree! I have her diploma (it's beautiful). She started teaching, married my grandpa, Gerrit, nicknamed (Lakey) Wanningen in December. In those days, married women were not allowed to teach, so they kept their marriage a secret. I'm sure they continued to "date," but you know back in 1924 there was no way were they living together. Lakey was very tall, somewhat awkward, and a few years older than Coba. He felt that he was the luckiest guy in the world.

My grandma, Jacoba Berghuis HS graduation, 1924...

Preliminary Steps...

I always thought my Dad was pretty handy and a good carpenter. Don't know if it was out of necessity that he took care of stuff, but I rarely heard him complain about it. Think he really enjoyed working with his hands. First thing I remember he built was a playhouse. It was awesome. Real siding, windows, even a brick chimney. "Neese" in my playhouse when I was about 4 years old, 1955.

The Sitter...

What's a budding pre-teen girl do when she finally wants some of her own spending money? It's the early 1960's and there's only so many job oportunities in Rock Valley, my small town in northwest Iowa. Let's see, there's life-guard, but I'm not old enough, and the season's too short. A new fad has finally hit northwest Iowa. Just 22 years after first being introduced in California. Think it got here by a covered wagon on 3 wheels. It's called a Drive-in. Girls wait on you in your car. Well, who doesn't want to eat in the cozy confines of their car? The eating part sounded good, but I don't want to wait on people. No, that's not a good fit either. If I were not totally-clueless-about-absolutely-everything-involving-farming, I could pick weeds, run along side a combine, cook sweetcorn or something.

Neese in my room, 1961...

Family fears...

After Larry had been killed, Mom developed or acquired some irrational fears for and about me. I understand how that could happen, but back then it wasn't easy for a ten year old.

Holy spit-curls Batman! Neese about 10, 1960...

The Henningfield's...

 

When we moved to 15th street in 1955, I was almost 5. The house I was born in was on the outskirts of town with only a few places scattered nearby. Suddenly, we were in the middle of a huge neighborhood full of homes with lots of kids.

Neese in kindergarten, 1956...

Down in the Valley...

 

Rock Valley was a great little town to live in when I was a kid. Tucked in the northwest corner of Iowa, near the borders of South Dakota and Minnesota. In the 1950's and '60's, Rock Valley boasted a population of maybe 2,500. Home to the world's best soil for farming (still is). There were a couple of manufacturers that employed quite a few townies, Kooima's and Roorda's. I always lived in town and didn't appreciate farmers, black dirt, crops or the beautiful landscape of Iowa until I moved away decades later.

Ain't no sunshine...

It was a beautiful fall Saturday morning, October 11, 1958. Never one to sleep in, I was up, had breakfast and was watching cartoons. Since it was the weekend Mom was home. For a kid, it was just another lazy weekend for this second grader. As the youngest in the family, my list of chores was very short. Play outside, eat, play some more and take a bath. Tomorrow was Sunday, which meant church (morning and night) and everyone needed to get their baths done on Saturday. No shower in our house, so everyone took a bath. I'd squirt Ivory Liquid dish soap in the tub to get gobs of bubbles.

Larry Wayne...

 

His name was Larry. Born at the end of the Second World War, he was the middle child, only son of an unhappy couple. Sandwiched between my older sister Mona who was 3 years older than him, 7-1/2 years older than me. We lived in a small town in northwest Iowa called Rock Valley. Predominately Dutch, safe, isolated, sheltered. Larry was all boy, who at 5, jumped off an old shed behind our house on a dare, hit his face pretty good, and had to have his first school picture taken of his "good" profile that year.