Where were you when...

I work with an amazing group of gals in the infant room at daycare. Our latest addition is Angie. She has similar hours to mine but works every day-I do not. She has a teaching degree but with 2 young children and a husband, isn't ready for a full time teaching position just yet. My problem with this gal? Angie talks soft and doesn't move her mouth much. Kind of odd that still surprises me. I don't realize how much I read lips when someone's talking until I don't get any help from the non-movement of their mouth. I literally want to stand by-her-face-to-face, lay my hands on her cheeks and massage her mouth into moving. OK, now I understand you Ang. Other times, with 12 noisy babies, she could have the voice of James Earl Jones and not one of us could hear or understand a word she said.

The expressive mouths of Jovi and Mommy, 2017...

Angie (the-soccer-mom) posted a question on Facebook the other day. I thought about it for a minute and was about to type my comment. As I was reading the comments from other people, their words took me back many years. I decided to write about both events. And I didn't want to bore Angie and her friends with my book long comment. OK, you can stop nodding your heads about my comments. I have issues saying stuff with very few words. And I prefer to call them chapters.

I knew it was going to be a fabulous day. Late summer, early morning and I was ready to start my walk. About a block from my house in North Muskegon, I head up the dreaded hill to get to the main drag of town, Ruddiman Drive. No sidewalk on 2nd Street, but if I ignore how steep the incline is, it's the favorite part of my walk. There are trees on both sides of the street at the top of the hill filling my view. Some evergreens but mostly deciduous. So far, not one tree had started turning color-yet. Just above the steep incline of asphalt in my view is gorgeous dark green-leaves and branches of pine needles. Oodles of them, but that's not what make the sight so spectacular. It's that vivid blue sky above the trees. Not that sometimes pale blue which reminds me of Joshua's eyes when he was a baby and didn't feel well-blue. No, not navy blue either, but closer to Chicago Cubs blue. Flat out-a beautiful summer day sky. This color blue just pops, especially against the striking vivid green shades. Awesome. Thanks for that God.

I already owned a cell phone, but used it sparingly. Mom and Dad were beginning to have some health issues, so my trips to Iowa were becoming more frequent. As long as I had good transportation, I was fine making the 750 mile trek by myself 3 or 4 times a year. Having a cellphone by my side in case I had car problems and needed to go all damsel-in-distress-mode to the Hubs (miles away, but still) was reassuring. Back then, I never gave a thought of taking it along for my hour daily walk.

After I get home I wait a few minutes to cool down and stop sweating before heading upstairs to shower. It's close to 9 when our home phone rings. It's John telling me to turn on the news, there's been a horrible accident/explosion. By the time I'm sitting at the dining room table, there's already on-going news coverage. It's hard for me to accept this is really happening right before my eyes. My brain is working overtime trying to reason/justify how this plane could ever get so far off course and not see that big-ass skyscraper right in its path. Then a second plane appears, heading straight for the south tower of The World Trade Center. My heart is thumping loud enough to be distracting-but fear and dread replace the thumps when I realize this must have been on purpose.

Never did shower on that awful day. Sat by the table, watching more horror from other locations, the Pentagon and a Pennsylvania field. Crying and shaking my head in disbelief. No commercials, no breaks, no afternoon or night time programs. The absolute worst for me were the people who jumped. My mind simply couldn't/wouldn't-comprehend/accept what my eyes saw until the news station asked a psychiatrist to explain what was going through their minds. These people already knew they were going to die. For them, there was no escaping the fire/flames/heat/smoke. They realized they were surely going to perish in one of the worst ways imaginable. These individuals are taking what little control they still have over the last few seconds of their lives. And if it was hard for me to understand while watching this unfold, try and imagine what was going through their minds. Dear God. Those poor souls.

I'm not a big TV fan. I watch several series that we tape with Hubs at night, however I would easily give up the boob tube long before my books and iPad. But for about 3 days I could not stop watching the coverage on TV. Probably emotionally unhealthy but when Americans are going through this un-ending horror I felt compelled-not to resume my normal life either. Suddenly there was no normal. It was days before the television stations went back to their regular scheduled programming or took commercial breaks. Before 9-11, I can't ever remember days of news without a commercial break.

Three disturbing incidents happened to me during the following days. The first was while I was on my walk the next morning. North Muskegon has a population of about 4,000. It sits about a mile and a half (by water) from Lake Michigan, languishing between Muskegon Lake and Bear Lake. So it's a narrow little town, only about 6 blocks wide most places. One main street, Ruddiman runs through most of it. If you wanna get a speeding ticket, try driving over 30 through it. At the top of the hill on Ruddiman were 4 police cruisers, all parked, lights on but no sirens. (Until that day, I didn't know N. Muskegon had 4 police cruisers, or that many policemen for that matter). The object of their concerned interest was an older vehicle model with something secured to the roof of their car. Honestly, looked like a Directv satellite dish, screwed to the top of this car. I don't know if this car would have been stopped driving through our sleepy town before 9-11, but the day after seemed to render the start of a different era in what some would deem 'suspicious behavior.'

The second incident happened the same day. When I got back from my walk, all cruisers, cops and satellite car dude had disappeared. I showered and headed to church which had opened its doors, welcoming all to come in and pray. Ran into the pastor on my way in and he expressed his thoughts on the last 2 days. He said it was our fault. America's fault for the terrorist's attacks. We asked for it. We goad other countries. Everyone hates the U.S. and what we stand for. Oh bloody hell I don't need to hear your shit. Stop talking. (One of 4-less than favorite preacher bosses in a row. Not a typo, that is indeed the number 4. And he wasn't the worst, but ranked right near the top. Don't even get me started. Yes, it's a big chip I'm lugging around lately about organized religion. My cross to bear).

About a week later, I thought some kind of normal life had returned. Just weeks before, about 10 miles south from my house, our fabulous new Lakes Mall had opened. Suddenly I needed to get out, be near people, perusing shelves in sparkly new stores for something mundane. Anything to feel normal again. So I head to the mall. I'm coming to the stop light at Harvey and Sternberg where Perkins Restaurant was located. In their parking lot was the most beautiful American flag, flapping softly in the morning breeze. It's one of those oversized flags, stunning against another true-blue summer sky. And the flag is flying at half staff. Sucked the breath right out of me. I round the corner and pull into the lot. Just sat there and sobbed. Guilt floods me. How can I think of shopping when this world changing terror attack happened a few short days ago? I have no heart. Turn the car around and head back home. Too soon. It's too fresh and too soon. I couldn't go back to the mall for weeks after that first attempt.

Getting back to Angie and her post question, where were you when 9-11 happened? The comments made by her friends? In junior or senior high, Mr. So & So's class. Dang, this 50 year old already had 2 grandchildren, Ariana 10 and Landon who just had his first birthday. Couple gals commented on having young children already, but most were in their early/mid teens at the time.

Landon & Ariana 2001...

Which was what brought me back so many years ago when I first read Angie's post. The day was November 22, 1963 and I was 12. It was a Friday and I was making my way to the new library from the old school building through a long hallway. I believe just before the double library doors were a couple of steps. I was on these steps when someone (can't remember who it was) caught up to me and said president Kennedy had just been shot. Soon we were sent home from school. My Mom had already left work and was watching our black and white TV. Walter Cronkite solemnly announced President John F. Kennedy was dead. Mom and I watched all afternoon, crying together. He was so young and handsome. He had little kids, younger than me. Why on earth would anyone want to harm him? If you were around, who could forget the procession with the horse drawn hearse? Never forget that scene.

Two world changing events. The first one, when I was not yet a teen, the second nearly 40 years later. Anyone old enough-remembers exactly what they were doing at that moment. We all have moments in our lives we'll never forget. Some very personal, getting married, giving birth, or losing someone we love. Other events, not so personal, but mourned and remembered by millions. The highs and lows of life...

A Small Town Girl...

I've been thinking a lot about Rock Valley, my home town. Probably because I was just there for part of a day. That part kinda bothers me. Seems every time I visit, there are less reasons for me to hang around. After I lost my 'home base' it feels rather foreign when I'm there. Like it's not really my home town anymore. What the heck is that about? It was my lifeline for 2 decades. I knew that town like the back of my hand. Though some of my memories are painful, for the most part, I hold Rock Valley in a very special spot in my heart.

My afternoon kindergarten class, 1956...

Tales from the Trypt...

We moved from Iowa 3 decades ago. That's 30 year's worth of trips back & forth from Michigan to Iowa. I wonder how many times I've made that trek? Many more between 1987 and 2005 than since. Because my folks were alive and starting their slow health decline. Often I'd go 3 or 4 times a year, setting them up with a freezer full of meals, lugging heavy change to the bank for the grandkid's bank accounts, getting chores done they deemed difficult. Always playing catch up.

About the time we moved to Davenport, Adam, me & Josh, 1982...

The trip's been a migration of sorts. Steeped deep in it's own traditions. Like caribou who leg out thousands of miles on life's journey, their young are born with a sense of where to go, what to do, how to find food and water. Just like me. After 30 odd years of traveling mostly the same roads, I often have this weird innate ability to find what I want or need. Although my wants and needs have changed somewhat over the years.

Kinda crowded with Blue Delft...

The first big leg of the trip back remains Davenport. About 6 hours away, our whole family has a soft spot in our hearts (and tummies) for the Quad Cities. It's unusual if I can't find something I like at North Park Mall. Or Isabel Bloom's store. Some of my best friends and double deck euchre buddies still look forward to my stop for a night of wild cards which now often lasts past 9!! After 30 years, there might be an inadvertent renege once in a while, but we're still sharp enough to catch most of them. Because it's a 'quarter a game, dime a bump,' type of night. Many of our favorite restaurants, The Mandarin, Rudy's Tacos, Jumer's, Old Oaks, and Yen Ching are either closed or not like we remember. But Happy Joe's, Harris Pizza, Whitey's Ice Cream and Iowa Machine Shed are still well worth a stop when we stay a night or just zipping through.

Since I went to Italy last summer I've had the hots for all things Assisi. The hilltop fortress town, incredible churches, and the history surrounding Saint Francis and Saint Clare have fascinated me. Perusing eBay this spring I spotted an Isabel Bloom statue (she's quite a famous artist from Davenport, died several years ago) of Saint Francis for sale. I was intrigued and not surprised when the small print stated, 'no shipping.' Duh, little snot weighs a ton, most Isabel's do, they're concrete. But Franny was less than half price of what he costs new in the stores. So I contacted Cherie the seller, (who conveniently lives near the Quad Cities), asking if I paid for him, would she hold him for 3 long months until I started my yearly migration? She said sure. She works in Davenport and would lug the Saint along where we could meet her and pick him up.

Welcome home Saint Francis...

It wasn't long after I started these numerous 750 mile trips when I discovered there are products, meats, baked goods I treasure from Iowa which are not readily available in Michigan. Who knew? And who's ever heard of Vernor's? For the first 15 years I made a point of buying a piece of Blue Delft in Orange City every time I ventured to Iowa. When my china closet started looking cluttered I put a halt on buying more pieces. My trip still includes a run to Orange City however, for dried beef from Woudstra's Meat Market. There is a store we discovered a couple years ago in Grand Rapids that carries dried beef, but it's not the same. Too dry and crumbly. So we wait until we're in Iowa and buy the best. My sister-in-law Mary Jane freezes it for me, we plop it in zip lock bags in a cooler of ice for the trip back to Michigan.

A real treat-dried beef sandwich...

Side note, I can do more wandering around, stopping at antique malls, points of interest, take pictures of Iowa's beautiful black earth, corn crops, small pink rocks on the road's shoulders, shopping malls, outlet malls, inlet malls ON THE WAY TO NORTHWEST IOWA. But once we're homeward (Michigan) bound, unless you've got severe stomach cramps, hurling green chunks like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, a tornado is in my path, or-the-2-cups-of-coffee-one-bottle-of-water-and-giant-Diet-Pepsi is making me extremely uncomfortable, getting home is my ONLY priority. I stop for NOTHING.

There are places we stop every time we hit northwest Iowa. Archie's Waeside in Le Mars is a must. Not the fanciest steak joint, but they just keep winning awards for great food for 70 years and counting. Hitting Southern Hills Mall in Sioux City is high on my list (Scheels) because I need a new Iowa T-shirt every year. Go Hawks! Same goes for The Three Sons in Milford, there's just this strange urge compelling me to buy something that says Okoboji. But every year? Yup.

This one captivated me, Iowa, my home state-forever...

Then there's this whole canning fiasco. There's barely room for our suitcases in the Jeep because of the canned goods I haul back to Iowa? Why, I haven't a clue. Must I push my canned goods on every Tom, Dick & Harry in the state? I would have to say yes. My guess is it won't be too many more years when my canning days are over, so I enjoy this passion/obsession/hobby while I'm able.

Stop with the canned goods, please....

Two things have changed in my travel trips to Iowa. One is something I've been addicted to for over 25 years. It's my dumb lip balm. (Sorry Mentholatum Natural Ice, you're not dumb). About a decade ago my favorite all around shopping store-Meijer stopped selling Mentholatum. (Yet why they carry a dozen variations of ChapStick and Burt Bees remains a mystery-kickbacks perhaps for purchasing agents)? Not long after so did Walmart, then Walgreens. WTH? Luckily, a big food chain in Iowa, Hy-Vee still carried it. From the time I cross the Mississippi, every Hy-Vee store sign I spot meant a mandatory stop. And I bought all the tubes they had. Every time. I mean, what if there's an apocalypse? If that little factory shuts down and I live for another 20 years, well, now you see my dilemma. This year no Mentholatum Natural Ice at any Hy-Vee's. I still have some tubes in various vaults from coast to coast but now I've got to find a new supplier on the black market. My world is literally upside down!

The other important top stop in Iowa is my ice cream. This too is rather perplexing as I really have never considered myself an ice cream nut. Heck, I put cotton candy, cinnamon/sugar soft pretzels, popcorn (small amount of real butter and light dusting of salt-mandatory-and for heaven's sake no microwave popcorn), Diet Pepsi, and fresh tomatoes far ahead of my love for ice cream. Except where Well's Blue Bunny Cherry Nut Ice Cream is involved. I make it my mission in life to eat it everyday while I'm in the state of Iowa. For awhile my hopes soared when Michigan Walmart's started carrying Well's Blue Bunny a few years ago. I thought the constant craving would eventually subside so I might return to normal. Ha! Walmart offered Cherry Nut-for the first few months. You know how limited space is when you only have a couple hundred thousand square feet to work with in those big box stores. Vendors pushing, bribing, coaxing, handing out favors to get their products on the shelves. Freezer space is even more limited. Well's Blue Bunny Cherry Nut Ice Cream lost out in Michigan, thus making me this crazed beast when I'm in the great corn/soybeans/hogs/cattle filled state. I'm constantly fixated on where my next Cherry Nut bowl of ice cream is coming from? Would if I'm not close to a store or ice cream shop that carries Cherry Nut? Last year, in a fit of desperation, I bought a half gallon (it's not even 64 ounces anymore, the carton is several ounces shy, yeah I noticed) and plastic spoons and devoured a hefty share. IN THE CAR. This year, determined to be more sane about my goofy Iowa ice cream habits, I brought real spoons and napkins in my purse for such an occasion. Yes, I can be civilized.

Wells Blue Bunny Cherry Nut Ice Cream. A rather scrawny bowl MJ...

Did that little stunt help me at all? No siree. Just over the Mississippi River on our way back to Michigan, I took an exit because I spotted a Walmart. Hell's bells, they carried about 4 Blue Bunny flavors, none of them resembling Cherry Nut, so my spoons came home spic & span. And here I sit, typing, breathing like life is splendid. What a crock!

There was a wonderful high point to my trip home this year. A couple of weeks before I left, I messaged several classmates asking if a lunch date was possible? I always stop and visit Char, one of my best friends through school. I thought she'd get a kick out of seeing some of the girls. We chose a date where most of us were free, meeting at Cedar Rock Grill in Rock Valley. We had such a good time. We talked and hugged for 3 hours. And ate. Catching up with each other's lives, reminiscing, encouraging, comforting. No longer one-upping anybody, we were just happy we're still alive and kicking. No one to impress, just friends. Good friends. Getting together when chance brings us together. Thanks for that opportunity God. Girls, let's not wait too long before we do this again. Life is a bowl of Cherry Nut(s). Indeed...

Burgers, Schelhaas, Wynia, Gayer, Plueger, Gerritson & Ymker. We rock...