14 Days...

It's been a long 2 weeks. We hired a local crew to pick up our measly 14,000 pounds of stuff from a storage unit 18 miles away. They brought about 2/3 of it one day in a straight truck. Decided not to go back for what remained, but had it here by noon the following day. John insisted I literally stand on the deck and dictate where each piece of furniture, every antique, the miscellaneous 200 boxes, and 50 containers should be placed. (Might have a bit of scaling back to do again in the future. Perhaps a ton or so). Plus I was trying to set up my new, smaller kitchen. Sounds like a perfect storm brewing.

 

A pittance of what belongs in my kitchen...

Transition...

Ok kids, raise your hand if you enjoy upheaval and major changes in your life. Right, me either. Until recently. I was so eagerly anticipating this move, it was hard not be bubbling with enthusiasm. Those feelings waned rather quickly in 90 degree heat. Packing stuff ourselves. Which wasn't a first in our long marriage, but we hadn't done that part of moving for 40 years. Always completed and paid for by the company who had just hired Hubs. The kicker was we had no "next place" lined up where to hang our hats. That was an uncomfortable first.

 

Have not missed this house for 1 second since we moved...

Murder, She Wrote...

Although we loved living near the Mississippi River in Davenport Iowa, a couple of pretty bizarre events occurred while we were part of that community. Guess it's only logical once you figure the numbers game. Take my little town of Rock Valley, where I grew up. The town consisted of about 2,500 folks. You could safely assume a few of them were whack jobs.The population of Davenport in the mid 80's was around 100,000 people. Equals out to lots more nut jobs. Not trying to be disrespectful. These were some seriously mentally ill individuals. Here's my memories of 2 tragedies that happened while we lived there.

 

One of several bridges crossing the Mississippi from Davenport...

The Parlour...

Strange to think a business in Jackson, Michigan has been weaving it's way through our lives since 1986. John moved to Jackson about 4 months before the rest of our family. But the rest of us went to Jackson for a long weekends every couple weeks. Hubs was staying at a new hotel called Budgetel, which was right next door to the Holiday Inn. When we were looking for a house, John would move to the Holiday Inn so the kids 16, 11, and 7 had a pool to enjoy. During one of those trips we would discover an ice cream shop which was pretty close to being world renown.

 

Several name changes, but always great treats...

The Nimitz...

How the Hubs and I became acquainted with these 3 fellas was kind of a fluke. Tom, Tileo, and John sat in the pew behind us during church. Tom had been widowed for years, and was in the middle of writing a book about the history of our church. Tileo sat with them was because his wife was in the choir singing every Sunday. John's wife was having some health issues and rarely made it to the church service anymore.

 

Where the conversations were held-before and during the service...

Nomads...

I was raised to stay put. Until serious health issues forced Mom and Dad to make some necessary, but unwanted changes, they had only lived in 2 houses through 62 years of marriage. Both in Rock Valley. In 1955, when I was 4, we moved to 1711 15th Street, which would remain their home for 50 years. Hard to imagine. Back then, most things they were involved with were long term. Dad worked at the Iowa State Hiway Commission over 30 years. This wasn't just a small town Iowa thing either. As a rookie, if you started your baseball career with the Chicago Cubs, odds were 20 some years later, you were still playing with those lovable losers. So what happened to me? How come I didn't stay in Rock Valley? Heck, I even moved away from Iowa.

 

1711 15th St. where I grew up...

Moving 101...

It should be compared to a lengthy, difficult labor. Except there's no newborn to smell, swaddle and nurse. Besides the good Lord gave new moms the ability to gradually forget about those perfectly timed, excruciating pains when you shouted the Hubs name. Claiming if he ever comes near you again, there would be hell to pay. Hell. To. Pay. Nope, not going to forget this for a quite a spell.

 

1979 with newborn Adam...