It all started late last fall, think it was Thanksgiving. Shannon announced that our 7th grade granddaughter, Peyton (singer-dancer extraordinaire) had been selected as a member of Michigan's Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp International Touring Choir. Peyton would be heading to France and Germany with 4 dozen singers for 6 weeks during the summer. "Anyone interested in a little plane ride to hear her sing in Paris?"
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| Staying limber by the Baltic Sea. Singer/dancer Peyton, 2017... |
I've always loved slapstick so you'd think the Three Stooges would be at the top of my list. Not so. I never found them particularly funny. Moe was just plain mean. Still I watched them when I was younger. Anyone remember the skit about Niagara Falls? Everytime those 2 words are uttered, Moe and Larry go into this speel, "Ni-agra-Falls! Slowly I turn, step by step, inch by inch." Poor Curly, (I do love the noises he makes) gets the ever-lovin' snot beat out of him. Again.
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| My incredible Niagara Falls, 2017... |
I never had a desire to travel abroad. There's too many places I still need to see in America. Then I got an opportunity to visit Italy up close and personal. It's been 13 months since Shannon and I traveled to Italy. And I've written a whopping 4 sentences about it. These were snippets that occured while I was there. It was a wonderful 12 day trip with my daughter, and inexcusable why I haven't written at least one story about my trip.
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| The Coliseum literally took my breath away. June, 2016... |
I wasn't ready. I know, that's lame. I knew about Italy months in advance, yet still felt unprepared when I left. Much of my anxiety/apprehension was because of a health issue, which is kinda funny. When Shannon asked me to go, she worded it this way, "mom, you really need to come. You've never been to Europe and we've never taken a big vacation together. I want you to go while you're still ambulatory and have all your faculties." (she has such a warped sense of humor) Well 'most' of my faculties were hovering nearby, but it was the ambulatory part which was given me fits.
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| The Coliseum is enormous... |
I hurt my left leg behind the knee 4 months earlier. Just walking. Felt a burning, searing pain and instead of turning around and limping home, walked another mile. Tried to tough it out but after a month of swelling and hobbling around I went to see my primary care doctor. He thought it was a Baker's cyst and sent me to an orthopedic guy who didn't think so. Had x-rays, an MRI, physical therapy and a couple of prescriptions over the next 2 months.
By Mother's Day, 3 months after the initial boo-boo, I had a baseball size lump on the left side of my knee. I was starting to panic about going to Italy. I was in constant pain, limping with every step. In my detailed trip itinerary was this troubling sentence: we'll do a lot of walking, bring comfy shoes. No where did it state, make sure you have 2 good legs (guess that's a given). I didn't want to embarrass Shannon or hold up the group. About a week before we left, the ortho doc gave me a cortisone shot in the knee. It helped quite a bit. Still I was a huge drain on our little 17 non-related American family in Italy, especially Shannon. It was Shannon and one of the leaders of our group, a great guy named Doug who often helped lug my suitcase up and down the stairs, on and off busses, trains and the airport. Ah, water under bridge, or in the canal. By the way, when you see those charming canals, the way humans get over them without getting wet is a bridge. A curved sloped bridge, usually with steps. Many, many steps. Which I had to take one-at-a-time with my purse, carry on and suitcase, unless one of my guardian angels saw my pitiful grimace. Oh, I was a slow-moving-sloth-drain. OK, enough about my temporary disabilites. (It took my knee a year to heal and I still have to be careful when I twist, pivot or use the stairs, but it is loads better)
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| Christy from our group near The Coliseum, 2016... |
First stop. The highs and lows of 3 days in Rome. I might have been expecting too much. Rome-holy-city-Pope. Nope. OK, it wasn't all ethereal. It's a huge city, so there's some trash in the streets, slums, even graffiti on abandoned buildings. But when you visit their ancient artifacts, they're absolutely pristine. They know how to care for the things they revere and honor.
Our hotel in Rome was the nicest of our 4 stops. Breakfast was included everyday with all our hotel rooms. But Rome! Yowza! The dining area had a huge room where they served the breakfast buffet. Not chintzy American hotel fare either. Wafer thin slices of prosciutto which is dry-cured ham, homemade crusty breads and rolls, butter, a dozen varieties of cheese. Eggs, meats, fresh fruits. Their breakfast feasts resembled a fine lunch or brunch buffet. Coffee was strong and delicious. Real china plates, coffee cups, silverware and cloth napkins. The salt & pepper shakers were miniature. Salt shaker had 3 tiny holes, pepper had 1. So cute. Hubs would still be sitting at the first table, the first day, shaking condiments on his eggs. Thirteen months later.
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| Look at the itty-bitty holes on condiments. When in Rome.... |
We toured Pricilla's Catacombs. Underground, narrow, dark, uneven surfaces. These catacombs were used as burial grounds from the 2nd to 4th centuries for Christians. It's the only thing I did and wished I hadn't. I still can't believe I didn't trip or fall. Small rocks jutting up from the ground with poor lighting at best. But it was neat to go through. Scary for me with my lack of balance and fat knee.
The biggest disappointment of the trip fell to Rome too. The Sistine Chapel. We arrived early, waited in line a long time and got shoved through in under 90 seconds. Ugh. Maybe nobody's fault. Still sucked. The Orlando, Florida mass shooting happened the day before so there was heightened security. The police stood everywhere shouting, "silence, silence, keep moving, silence! Move along. Silence." Not exactly the most reverent mood setter as you should slowly stroll through, eyes lifted upwards as you gaze on Michelangelo's, The Last Judgement painted on the ceiling. It was like waiting in an impatient line for a carnival ride as a kid, jostled, pushed, smashed against too many people. This week, a year later on my FaceBook newsfeed, I noticed a TV anchor guy, Bret Baier vacationed with his family in Italy. My jaw dropped when he posted a picture outside the Sistine Chapel. Oh my, not exactly the way I remember the Sistine Chapel on the day we were there.
But Rome also supplied me with my favorite top-spot of the whole trip too. And I was kinda surprised with my reaction when I saw it. I was smitten, speechless, breathless, awed, mesmerized. More than our constant art overload, more than Michelangelo's David in all his nude glory. Not the Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, none of the above-put together. For me it was The Coliseum. Heavens to Betsy, it seemed not-of-this-world! There are no adjectives to describe setting eyes on The Coliseum, which once held 50 to 80 thousand crazy folks. They had recently installed an elevator or there is no way I could have gone inside. The steps were too numerous to count, narrow and very steep. Those ancient Romans were in tip-top shape. If you ever have the chance to go, pick Rome. Just for the Coliseum. Awesome, superb, mind blowing, stunning. Wow. Just wow. Wow.
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| Shannon & I at The Coliseum. Surprising how high up we are, 2016... |
Second verse, same as the first. No, our second stop was the polar opposite of anything Rome-like. Assisi. I loved it there. A drastic, dramatic change in sights, sounds and scenery from Rome. Assisi was built on the top of a hill as a fortress. For this gal with a bothersome leg, the steep up and down streets were almost too painful to manuever. But it was just so neat. With spectacular views overlooking the countryside, small towns, roads and woods. The birthplace of St. Francis and St. Clare back in the 11 century I think. Church after church after church! Holy Hannah. Awesome. Some churches were very humble, some beyond very ornate.
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| Our tour group with the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi in the background, 2016... |
The street artist in Assisi was phenomenal. He started this 6 foot chalk drawing before we got there and finished St. Clare before we left town. Townsfolk said these chalk drawings usually last a few weeks. I'm still sick about a gorgeous oval platter I did not buy. It was made near Assisi and believe it's called Deruta. I would buy a special trinket later, but still wish the platter was hanging on my wall. I would be remiss here if I didn't mention gelato. Italian ice cream. Rich and sweet. Never tasted it before Italy (ok devoured a dish every day of my trip). Life is good with gelato.
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| A street artist chalk drawing of St. Clare of Assisi, 2016... |
Florence, my third stop. The city is hip, yet very old. Our hotel was just bizarre. It's ultra modern. Just didn't seem to go with the flow of the city. The hotel entrance looked like a bench with a mess of open laptops on it. Those were chairs. But I liked Florence a lot. Michelangelo's David is in Florence. And Michelangelo is buried there. There's a church called Duomo Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. It's made of pink, white and green marble and is very striking. Pink marble, still can't get over the color. But even that unusual landmark didn't have the impact or bring up the raw emotion that traveling 8 miles outside the city on a bus would hold for me. The Florence American Cemetery. Sitting on 70 acres rests over 4,400 of our soldiers remains. I started crying as soon as we got there. Green, green grass surrounded by trees, with rolling hills, a memorial wall and small pool. And thousands of white crosses. Thousands. Most of the deaths were from the Fifth Army during the month of June, 1944. Too much. The cemetery is immaculately cared for by Italy, which has promised to always watch over our soldiers.
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| An emotional day. American Cemetery in Florence, Italy, 2016... |
Our last stop was highly anticipated by me. I think I was the only one though. We went to Venice for 2 days. Venice-meh, but one of the side trips offered was a 45 minute boat ride to the island of Murano. This is what I was excited about. I LOVE blown glass. This is where I was going to buy a-drop-dead-gorgeous-piece-of-authentic-Murano-hand-blown-glass. We had some time constraints, (there was that boat back to Venice we needed to be on) and I had a terrible time choosing a special-I-went-all-the-way-to-Italy-just-to-buy-this-but-I-got-er-done. The vase was too big and fragile to carry, so I had it shipped home. It's a lovely remembrance of my trip.
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| Um Dave, show some modesty please. Dude, nice butt... |
One other side trip was really neat. I'm a little vague on exactly which person of our group knew this gal, but think it was our fearless leader, Dave. Pretty sure the gal's name was Ann and I know she's American. She married an Italian 40 years ago and has lived there for decades. Ann invited us to her home for an Italian family dinner. I didn't count the number of courses but it had to be close to 20. Ann had every known friend and relative helping with serving, clearing, cooking, washing dishes, taking pictures, visiting with all of us. We were stuffed and humbled by their kindness, delicious food and desire to make it a night we would all remember. My trip to Italy, gelato, the quaint farm supper, The Coliseum, The American Cemetery, gelato, Catacombs, Assisi, 17 foot David, the art, gelato, island of Murano, the magnificent churches. Really fabulous and memorable. I'm sorry I didn't write about it sooner. It was so much to process. Big thanks to Shannon and Tracey. Love you guys. Until my next story, Au Revoir, er, I mean Auf Wiedersehen...
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| My hand blown glass vase from Murano, 2016... |
My Mom was a clothes horse. She could still out-shop me when she was in her late '60's. She loved clothes, enjoyed wearing nice things and always looked really put together. She preferred shirt-jacks and blazers and most of her blouses had a bow at the neckline. Mom wore dresses until the mid-70's when Hillary introduced pantsuits to the world. She might have owned a dress or 2 after that, but Mom had found her comfortable nitch, and rarely strayed from her usual ironed slacks (in every color imaginable plus multiples of white), a loose fitting jacket or blazer (she always thought her butt was big, it never was).
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| Great aunt Lena, Mom w/bow & loose jacket and Uncle Floyd... |
When I was in school, it became important to Mom that I dress nice, and I did. Most of my clothes were not bought though, but hand tailored. That sounds ritzy but it wasn't. Mom knew a gal who lived across the street from the First Reformed Church in Rock Valley. (I believe she was a stay at home mom with several children. She had an enormous amount of sewing talent. Think this was her way of working from home and helping the family budget) Her name was Mrs. Van Holland. (No first name that I can recall. Rock Valley women usually went by Mrs. So & So. I vetoed that option day 1 of marriage to Hubs).
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| One of my many hand knit sweaters from Mom... |
Mom would get an idea about an outfit for me. Most of her ideas revolved around whatever fabulous sweater she was knitting for me at the time. She might want a pleated skirt to complete my ensemble. Mom got on a shorts kick for a couple of years while I was in high school. Not for her, I never saw in her in a pair of shorts, though I do believe she owned a pair of culottes. Notice I said she got on a kick, not me. Most of this was Mom's doing. Dead of winter in northwest Iowa, 20 below or worse and that crazy Gerritson girl came to school wearing shorts. Oh Neese. They were bermuda length, always wool, fully lined (thanks Mrs. Van Holland for lining those itchy things). Actually, probably warmer than skirts. Knee socks were popular, so basically only my knees were exposed and showing. Mom also had a thing for orange, her favorite color. She knit me this orange mini skirt. As I remember it was pretty darn short even though we were coming to the age of hot pants and really mini-skirts.
But I've never been on the cutting edge as far as fashion is concerned. I guess I'm slow to accept new things. By the time I'm ready to embrace something different, it's been out of style for a year-minimum. Sometimes I've never been on board for what is perfectly accepted apparel. Here's a great example. I love jeans, always have. Mom never owned a pair of blue jeans or a t-shirt. Different era. I still prefer jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt. This is a casual outfit, no matter how dressy the jeans or top. Why would anyone wear high heels when you're wearing jeans? Makes no sense and I think it looks dorky and dumb. Tennis shoes, flats, boots, sandals go with jeans, not high heels.
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| Even my saddle shoes matched... |
I don't like to be the center of attention. Makes me uncomfortable. Stands to reason I would never lean towards outlandish or fad clothes. I don't want to spend money on a seasonal trend, say a jacket sporting some weird trim or odd shaped sleeves that surely will be out of style in 6 months. Just not me. My grandson Landon mentioned he liked the t-shirt I was wearing recently. Plain, gray Nike swoosh. Landon will be 17 in a couple months. My Nike t-shirt is older than him by a couple years. And still one of my favorites.
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| 2001 with Landon. My Nike t-shirt is several years old already... |
So last fall I was in JC Penney looking for work clothes. I buy easy care clothes for the daycare. I get drooled on, snotted on, spit on, pooped on, spit-up on, peed on, and baby food-ed on by those lovable little rascals. Everyday. Everything needs to be washed after my 6 hour shift, including me. And we're only allowed to wear jeans on Friday. That's if we pay for that privilege. Boo-hiss. I don't mind paying, in fact I'd give a buck a day to wear jeans everyday. I've never owned so many non-jeans clothes in my life! Anyway, I found a couple of tops that were wash & wear and was ready to check out when I noticed some clearance jean capris. A dark blue pair just past my knee with a cuff. And several holes-on purpose-all over. Cute. But too young. Should be worn by gals much younger than-this-then-soon-to-be-great-grandma. Hmmmmm. Tried them on. Fit nice. Cute. Hmmmmmm. Five bucks. Sold. I'll just wear them around the house, and if somebody sees me, they certainly will think I came by those holes the old fashioned way, hard work and wearing them for 20 years like my Nike t-shirt.
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| What was I thinking? |
I haven't worn slacks with a pattern since the wacky 70's. I don't know if it's becauseI think they make my butt look huge, or that I'm just too much of a chicken. To wear printed pants. That's just plain crazy right? So this loner-introvert bought a pair of herringbone print slacks (on clearance, duh) for work this winter. They hung neatly in my work closet while my I gathered courage to actually sport them for a day being peed, pooped, well you know what happens to me at work. The slacks are kind of loud, not exactly fushia, maybe cranberry and black. No one noticed. Maybe a few of the babies. They're all into textures and colors and seemed to like my loud pants just fine.
Since it was October when I shelled out that enormous wad on beat-up capris, I didn't give much thought to them over the winter. In May when it was time to change my dreary winter closet to spring/summer duds, I spotted them again. Didn't feel foolish or flamboyant when I wore them either. Until Ari came over to pick up Jovi. As she was heading out the door said, "cute capri's gram." Oh-boy, a sure sign they're too young for this great-grandma.
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| Kerrie, Kelli, Shannon w/hot-pants-mama-me, Christmas 1971... |
I was not done with impromtu/foolish purchases just yet. Wandering around the aisles of my favorite department/grocery store Meijer this spring, checking out the clearance racks. My weakness, jeans. Something called boyfriend jeans. Kinda baggy through the legs, with a cuff. If they really are supposed to be your boyfriend's jeans, that's the way they should fit I guess. No boyfriend around, but dang if those jeans weren't sporting similar holes, rips, frayed spots, and something that definitely looked like a patch. Cute though. Hmmmm. Fit cute. Hmmmmm. $2.80. Sold.
Let this be a warning to anyone (of a certain age) considering a similar purchase. These holy jeans and capris can be deadly. Here's the scoop. Gospel truth. It's a few weekends ago, and my goal for the day is finishing a story for my blog. Don't think I'm leaving the house, so it's a safe bet the boyfriend jeans will be seen by no one other than the Hubs. I lounge around in sweats, reading the paper and finally decide I'd better shower or the day will slip away.
Grab my $2.80 jeans, a comfy t-shirt and head to the bathroom. Shower, dry off, and ready for clothes. Undies, check, shirt, check and now for the new jeans. Got my left leg in, (remember they're kinda baggy) and I'm sliding my right leg through when my big toe hooks that darling, on purpose knee hole. (Due to my profound hearing loss and Meniere's Disease, my balance is dicey at best). I start to lose that delicate balance, yet somehow manage to catch myself before flailing into our new glass shower doors. I miss a perfect 10 face plant by an inch above the water level of the toliet. My right arm hits the rim pretty hard causing my head to bounce back up. Gulp. Close, but no I didn't gulp any water. Still don't know how I managed not to get seriously hurt. I must have had my dumb foot going through sideways instead of straight up and down. My 3 dollar jeans almost cost some new teeth and a pretty smashed up face. Lesson learned. This old gal will be making no new fashion statements (no matter what the bargain price) anytime soon...
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| Obviously I need to sit when pulling these on.. |
Hopefully, sometime far into into the future it'll read something like this:
1. She was a big chicken.
2. She tried hard, but fell short frequently.
3. If cotton candy was involved, she could out-eat a dozen kids-put together.
4. She dearly loved and was enormously proud of her family.
5. She would love the chance to make just one more list...
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| One of my favorite treats... |
Where it began, I can't begin to knowing,
But then I know it's growing strong.
Was in the spring, then spring became the summer,
Who'd believed you come along. Sweet Caroline. By Neil Diamond.
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| I know, another yawner... |
I'm a jumble of conflicting emotions. Something's been brewing for a long time and may have finally peaked. It has not made me feel better or given me any satisfaction however. I will likely find a plateau and remain there until I croak. Sounds rather dubious, but it's not. Part of my story, so here goes.
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| Yeah, this is about the time it started... |
