The House Due East...

During our 45 plus years of wedded bliss, we've moved a lot. About 15 times. If you factor that we've been in our lake home for 21 years, that's not letting much grass grow under our feet anywhere else. Many were rentals. We've only bought 4 homes. And I've liked them all. This house was only 2 years old when we bought it. All the rest were significantly older. I always felt I was born to have a boatload of antiques (I do) and live happily in a 3-story, 1890's Victorian. (Never have) Now my nearly 65 year old knees sees the writing on the wall about that little bucket list item.

 

Not to be. Too old to covet a 3 story house, sigh...

The Hole...

I've never been the brightest string of lights on the tree. I'm not an over achiever in any endeavor. Often don't even compete or complete. Shouldn't complain. Mostly content with my fair-to-middling life. I have been very lucky and blessed. No serious illness, and have a wonderful family. So when something so foreign and alien nicked me with a good right hook, I felt 3 things all at once. 1. Wow, I sure didn't see that coming. 2. I think I just got clipped along side the head with a Louisville Slugger. 3. You coulda' knocked me over with a feather.

 

Looks soft and delicate. Ha! Knocked me for a loop...

Jean...

Jean was a member of my women's church circle for several decades before I joined. Quiet, petite and very nice. She was also a Stephen Minister for our congregation. Taking a class consisting of 50 hours of training in the art of listening. Meeting one on one with someone going through a traumatic experience about an hour a week. These ongoing sessions sometimes lasted a few weeks, sometimes years. Loss of a spouse, job, illness, divorce etc. Jean was vibrant, active and busy. I was drawn to her immediately.

 

My dear friend Jean. About 2005...

JPS...

Had I known how disillusioned and disgusted we would be about the public education system in Michigan after living here a couple years, I never would have consented to move at all. Adam was attending a small elementary, consisting of kindergarten through second grade. So before he started 3rd grade, he moved to a much larger school building. He was now in the same facility where big brother Josh had been going since we moved to Jackson.

Joshua 11, Adam 7. Around the time we moved to Michigan, 1987...

Dog Days...

Like most families, our kids had their fair share of pets over the years. For a few years, they tried to one up each other in the variety department. Iguana, hamsters, gerbils and a parakeet named Don that lived for about a decade in Joshua's room. Most with success and love. Others, not so much. We tried a gorgeous Quaker parrot. Horrible little snot. That dude could fling his poop about 10 feet across the room. And he did it on purpose. Our dog Chico was petrified of him. I was too. And a bird was my idea. I should have known better. I am the least pet person in our family.

 

Barely visible Max and Adam. Camouflage among the leaves, 1985...

Sibs...

One year ago. A whole year since I published my first blog post. It's been immensely satisfying, therapeutic, and scary. Painful much of the time. But I'm hooked. At least until the words and stories in my head empty out. Since I've been leaning to one side lately when I walk, my head is probably sitting below half a tank. I will run out of stuff to write one day. Fair warning. Yeah, I know, you're all devastated. For my first story there was no doubt what I would write about. Someone very important who I loved with all my heart. My brother Larry, killed in 1958 when he was 12 and I was 7. It seemed only fitting that after a year of evading, avoidance, sticking my head in the sand, and generally beating around the bush, I finally tell the story about my sister Mona. And me. So here goes.

 

Larry 4, Mona 7, 1950...

Evenly Spaced...

I can justify my opinion on how I feel about something. At least to myself and in my head. Usually. However, when that certain subject pops up in my mind, if this immediately brings a small frown to my face, it probably means my way of thinking on that topic is slightly off kilter. And I somehow know it, but don't want to dredge up why I feel (and still believe) the way I do. Now don't go thinking this is some deep matter of life importance. Remember who's doing the typing here. I'm still pretty firm in my belief on how I dealt with this situation when I was young. Maybe I wish I would have felt differently though.

 

Shannon 9, Adam 3 mo., Joshua 4-1/2, 1979...