It's been two years. Twenty-four months. Give or take a leap, over 730 days. I couldn't decide between 'Thanks-a-lot' or 'Blame them' for the title. Blame sounds like such a downer, thus I went with thanks. It's up to my readers to determine if I got that part right. Where to start, where to start? I guess she's either a heroine (or a culprit). Her name is Betty. So I'm gonna start with her.
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| My home town... |
I was born and raised in a small town in Iowa. It was about the best place in the world to grow up. We had freedom to ride bikes, go to the dump, play in the park, go swimming at the sandpit until Dr. Hegg convinced the townsfolk we needed a modern, cement swimming pool. Our stores downtown were all we ever really needed. Right. That lasted until we got close to our teens.
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| Rock Valley Park with our spiffy swimming pool in the background about 1960... |
I'm guilty of not giving Mom a fair shake at times. Until I was 10 or 12, I thought the sun rose and set on her. To be fair, her life was not easy from the get-go. She and her twin brother Floyd lost their mom when they were 2 weeks old. Although they had 2 sets of doting grandparents who raised and adored them, Mom always felt her dad blamed her and Floyd for their mother's death. Her dad left the child rearing to his parents and in-laws. And never was a very involved father. She learned rejection at a very young age.
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| Maternal grandma Berghuis with Florence and Floyd, 1927... |
We were just getting used to living in a big city. It was vastly different than the charming town of Spencer, Iowa, population about 10,000. Have to admit though, we all liked it. Miles wise, we had zipped about 300 miles east to the opposite side of the state. Davenport sat on the Mississippi River, a large sprawling city of about 100,000 people. But closely attached (except for that massive body of water) to 3 more cities. In Iowa, Bettendorf, on the Illinois side, Moline and Rock Island. Altogether, aptly named the Quad Cities. Those Iowa-Illinois folks are clever like that.
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| From left, me, Josh, Shannon with Adam in front. Davenport, 1985... |
After almost 2 decades of visiting the elderly under the tutelage of 4 subpar bosses, (ministers, et al) I retired in 2013. Except for a 5 month daily stint, helping a wonderful friend named Lois who was recovering before after surgery for compression fractures, I have found retirement quite satisfying.
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| My dear friend Lois, who lives about an hour away now... |
I was looking for a recipe the other day. Specifically, Banana Bars. Delicious, easy and a great way to use a couple of over ripe bananas. Most of my recipes are typed, though some are still handwritten. Neatly held in this cute little Longaberger Recipe basket. I started thinking about my friends and family who have shared their recipes with me. Some have been in my life for decades, others zipped through quickly, usually because we moved.
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| The recipe box with all my favorites... |
So this business of storytelling. The folks reading my blog posts for almost 2 years now, know I write about every facet of my life. Every facet. Growing up in Rock Valley, Iowa, eloping at 18, motherhood, marriage, my life long love of the elderly. The complicated relationships with my Mom, Dad and sister. Not much has been off limits in baring 'all of Neese' in my bizarre little life. Until my stunning, beautiful, smart, sassy, talented, soon-to-be-12-year-old granddaughter, Peyton put the brakes on my writing. Have I mentioned she's a bit assertive? Wonder who in the world she inherited that trait from?
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| Peyton, my little Ballerina, 2005... |
