Arly...

Arly. He was-complicated. Not sure how well I knew him, but we were related through marriage over 4 decades. The 4th child of Jim and Mag. Everyone assumed he was the baby of the family. To this family outsider looking in, Arly was always Mag's favorite. He was a bit different. Even odd.

Les 8 standing, curly-haired John 1-1/2, & Arlyn 5 in 1949...

Lo and behold, with Eleanor nearing her 18th birthday, Jimmy entering his teens, Les 7, and the adorable 4 year old Arlyn, Mag, now 38 and so done with babies, found herself ready to give birth to John. My Hubs. John and Arly's childhood together would prove to be rather rocky. John believed Arly despised him and was trying to kill him since birth. Arly scared the living snot out of Hubs for years. Until John finally started growing. Arly knew then he'd better leave him alone, or else. Sharing a bedroom until the 2 older boys moved out didn't help.

Arly looked different than the rest of the brood. Slim, dark, quiet, and very intense, more like Jim. Elly, Jimmy, Les and John were more of a stocky build like Mag. John, easy going, didn't grow up like the normal baby of the family. I should know, I'm also the baby. Spoiled rotten, the way the youngest of the family are usually treated. Not John. By the time Hubs went to school, he was pretty much on his own. Cooking his own eggs by age 6, he had the run of the town. It's a miracle he didn't get into more trouble than he did through the years. There was not a lot of supervision. But Hubs turned out just fine.

Arlyn, Jimmy, Les & John in the back. Mag, Jim & Eleanor, 1979...

My Hubs, John in 1948...

After high school, Arly went to Morningside College in Sioux City, about 60 miles from our hometown. He was president of The Young Republicans during the 1964 presidential election between Lyndon Johnson and Barry Goldwater. Anyone who knew Arly after age 30 would find this simply impossible to believe. He was the most liberal person I know in his political beliefs. He truly thought Hillary Clinton was going to take over God's spot. (Well, so did she).

I don't exactly know what happened at Morningside. He didn't get his degree, but was very close. He dropped out of school, bought a 1959 Ford Thunderbird and ventured to Chicago for a few months. I think he was after a girl he loved in high school. But he forgot a couple of things. Making payments on the car. Bingo. Way behind and in a tight spot, he felt his only option was to sell the car and flee. He needed a fresh start. So he joined the military. Begged John to go with him. But Hubs preferred the Marines over Arly's choice of the Navy. If you remember, John had a horrible accident when he was 15, riding a green broke horse. The horse got spooked, reared up, landing awkwardly on John's foot. Long hospitalization, 2 surgeries, wheelchair and long rehab. Hubs could go to every recruiter in the continental US, nobody was going to take him or his totally messed up foot. He tried a couple of times and could never get that foot/ankle to pass a physical. So Arly joined the Navy. Actually wrote me a couple of letters from his ship, the USS Saint Paul, docked in San Diego. Telling me to take care of John and that he missed Rock Valley.

I think every person in the world has a friend or relative like Arly. To me, he was absolutely brilliant! I never wanted to get in a really deep discussion or worse an argument with him. He LOVED to argue. About anything and everything. Not me. You could see by watching him, his mind was going a hundred miles an hour. And he often wore this little smirk/half smile. It was somewhat deceptive.

Arly and the oldest brother Jimmy were very good card players. I don't know if they counted cards, cheated, or got their information from above, but they always seemed to know the exact cards in your hand. How'd they do that? Half the time, I didn't know what was in my own hand, let alone anyone else's. Although it makes for a lot of defeats for the rest of us normal folk, it does tend to make the less frequent wins much sweeter. Arly taught us how to play double deck pinochle one Christmas Eve when I was about 16. There was a blizzard of epic proportions and I couldn't get home, which was only about a mile away. There were about 2 dozen people stuck in Mag and Jim's little house that night because of the weather. A group of us took turns playing cards most of the night. With Arly the card shark. My Mom was absolutely beside herself because I couldn't get home. Thought my reputation was forever ruined in our small conservative Dutch town by staying at John's house. Surely the whole group would give up a bedroom for the night so John and I could have wild sex and become parents soon after. That ship sailed Mom. Instead, we played cards all night long and had a blast. Mag had enough food to feed an Army.

Arly ended up doing a couple of tours in Viet Nam. During an R & R in Japan he bought a Triumph motorcycle. When he got back to his ship, his CO greeted him with, "you can't bring that on board. Send it home or get rid of it." Arly returned the bike and bought the best set of component stereo equipment money could buy. Also got Mag and Mary Jane sets of china. (Les and Mary sent him the money) Hubs and I were eating off 5 dollar Melmac dishes. There was no china in our vocabulary yet. Then Arly mailed the stereo to us without telling us. We were newlyweds, living in a small house on Douglas Street. That fabulous system took up almost our whole living room. Along with the radio, turntable, and speakers as big as me, Arly mailed dozens of music reels he had recorded. A lot of work back in '69-70. Every song from The Beatles and The Doors. Those 2 groups I remember very well. Memorized every lyric.

But along with his brilliant mind was about the most impractical person one would ever meet in life. Arly didn't have a lot of common sense, and few skills for everyday life. He seemed oblivious at times of his surroundings. Once when Arly and John were pheasant hunting and he was about to graduate from high school, Arly commented how sorry he felt for the farmers around Rock Valley. Why, ventured John on a beautiful fall day? "Because all the corn is dying." John explained that's what happens every fall to the corn crop.

After Arly got out of the Navy and returned home, he met a girl from Hull. Vicki was the polar opposite of Arly. Several years younger, sheltered life and had graduated from Western Christian High School. But they really hit it off. Both of them liked to party and have a good time. A Hippie life style. After a short
courtship, they got hitched. Eloped at the same courthouse in Elk Point, South Dakota as Hubs and I not long before. By this time, we had moved to Hinton and Shannon was a few months old. Arly and Vicki were about to become parents too. They found a small house in Hinton to rent. When Hubs and I think about that year, we realize we did quite a few things with them and for them. John changed their light fixtures, replaced headlights, helped with their car, and I taught Vicki how to make Taverns, which was about the first supper I learned to cook. Remember, I couldn't boil water when we eloped.

Seriously, Vicki was stunning...

Hubs was working at Channel 4. One of the perks (what a joke) of his fabulous job were press passes to Sioux City's semi-pro hockey games. The Musketeers played at The Auditorium downtown. We took Arly and Vic along one night. The trouble with these free press passes, you had to wait until people took their seats, then find a place in the leftover spots, which were usually in the nose bleed section. The game was about to start, we were slowly making our ascent. Finally found 4 seats together and sat down to enjoy our favorite player, Pete (something, his last name is forever lost) strut his stuff on the ice. Can you believe it, Arly couldn't see the puck flying across the ice. Why? He was too vain to wear his glasses. Hadn't even brought them along. Oh my stars.

One night Arly came over without wearing a coat to borrow our shovel because we had a huge snowfall. John got the shovel and I gave Arly my red and black plaid wool shirt jacket (he wasn't much bigger than me). A few days later he brought both items back. Not long after, I pulled the jacket on to shovel the front sidewalk, came back into our 3 room house hysterical. In the pocket of my jacket was an inch long cigarette of marijuana. I screamed, cried, and yelled at John, "the cops are going to arrest me and take Shannon away." (Maybe a little over the top). Hubs grabbed me, hugged me tight, said "calm down!" He plucked the ominous-scary, life-wrecking, mother-ending, Nib-sized (anyone remember that licorice candy?) weed from my hand, tossed it in the toilet and flushed. Ok then. But something had changed. At least for me. I no longer wanted to be around Arly and Vicki as much. They just lived so different than we did. At that time, if the cops picked someone up with marijuana and you were with them, you got charged too. I was kind of scared to be with them.

Probably the biggest thing we did was find Arly a job. This is a tough one for me. I was enormously proud/smug/happy when it happened, but if I knew then what I know now, there's no way I would ever call him excitedly about this job. I have no idea if this changed the course of his life. I certainly hope not, but I fear it did. Could be the way his life turned out was my fault. Here's what happened. Arly didn't have a job. John and I were out for a rare evening. Who we were with I cannot recall. Maybe the Reinke's, or the Duits, although I believe Dale and Beth had already moved to Minnesota. We were in Sioux City at The Jockey Club, inside the Holiday Inn. I ordered some fancy drink that didn't taste like booze, sloe gin fizz or perhaps a strawberry Daquiri. Anyway, it took forever, plus they made it wrong. I complained and the manager walked over and apologized. Said he couldn't keep a decent bartender. I piped up and said my brother-in-law had just returned from Viet Nam, was a hell of a bartender and could make every drink in the world perfectly. Manager said, send him down in a couple of days and I'll interview him. John spent the next 48 hours grilling Arly on how to concock every imaginable drink in the book. Arly aced the interview and got the job. Stayed with Holiday Inn for awhile, got offered a promotion if he would move to Montana, so they did.

Jim, Arlyn, John, Elly w/ Les on the steps about 2000...

They moved back to Iowa a few years later. By then we had already moved to eastern Iowa, later, Michigan. Arly and Vic had 2 more children about the ages of Joshua and Adam. We'd see them sporadically, usually at Jim & Mag's house for holidays. The brothers still got into some very heated arguments, everything from what bag balm (cow tit salve) could cure (John swore it could help the blind-but just did it to bug Arly) to if drawings of a new concept car could be considered 'art.' Oy vey.

About 10 or 12 years ago, very close to Easter, we received a phone call saying Arly was in the hospital and very sick. Hubs hopped on a plane and spent several days with his brother and the rest of the family. I don't know if we learned what the diagnosis and prognosis was right away, but it wasn't long before Arly told John he had cirrhosis of the liver. Arly said he could never take another drink if his intentions were to remain here on earth.

The complicated lives of Arly and Vic. Five years ago, March 1st, 2012 we got a call that Vicki had fallen in their kitchen, hit her head and died. Unbelievable, she was 3 months younger than me. Arly called John the next day telling us not to come to Iowa for the funeral. It was ok, the rest of the family was nearby and more than enough support. John and Arly talked on the phone every couple days after that. Arly was mellow, quiet, sweet and grateful for this close relationship that had somehow formed. So was John. One night towards the end of March, Arly called saying he didn't feel well at all. John begged him, "please go to the doctor. Do you want me to come home? I will. Let me go to the doctor with you." "No John, there's no need for you to come. I'll be ok," Arly answered. Later that night Arly somehow managed to drive himself 25 miles to a Sioux City hospital. But it was too late. His organs were shutting down. Arly died the next day. He was 67. It was 4 weeks to the day after Vicki had passed away...

Arly, gone too soon...

The Quest...

I think I live in the present. I like the present, it's true, everyday's a gift. There's enough 'stuff' in my life to keep me feeling busy and fulfilled. Yet as I age (could maybe slow that part down just a bit God) I find myself reminiscing/ remembering/thinking /reviewing/ times during my childhood. Not really dwelling on things, but definitely thinking about my past more than I used to.

Goodness, how did I make it to adulthood looking like this?

All in 'The Family'...

The Lowder's had a dilema. Their 2017 summer schedule was packed to overflowing. Shannon and Tracey thought they had it all figured out. Au contraire. Their European trip went without a hitch and the numerous lists on the calendar were beginning to clear. Landon's basketball AAU stint with "The Family" out of Detroit had one last tournament. It was a biggie in Florida, end of July. Since much of the summer had been spent apart for various tourney's and Peyton's rigid touring choir schedule in France and Germany, the Lowder's thought the whole family would spend the week in Florida together. To make it a more homey vacation, the rented a house instead of a hotel, airline tickets were bought. Even Ari, Josh and 6 month old Jovi were set to spend a relaxing week together. Plus that biggie tourney, but at least it was the last one this year.

Long about mid-July, Landon's AAU coach sent out a memo saying the team had decided not to go to Florida, instead choosing a tournament in Fort Wayne, Indiana on the same weekend. Oh for cripe's sake. The Lowder's found themselves mildly perturbed with this news. What to do? Cancel the Florida trip, disappointing a few family members and taking a big hit monetarily? Go to Florida and take Landon along, letting him miss one tourney? Wouldn't be the end of the world. Except for those dang college coaches constantly calling Tracey, asking when Landon's (Drew to the rest of the world, he was on several college watch lists during AAU's Nike season) team was arriving in Fort Wayne? Maybe let Shannon take the family to Florida and Tracey travel with Landon, but that's how it goes most weekends. Or all but Landon head to Florida and ask the mild mannered superhero grandpa and grandma to accompany Landon for the weekend?

Actually most of the team player's parents rarely go to these tournaments. There's just too many, and it's too expensive. The players and coaches travel means and hotels are paid for, so they just send their kids with the coaches. Money for meals is about all they need. I'm sure they get updates from their kids after games with twitter or phone calls. The AAU tourney's tend to be quite far away, Las Vegas, Atlanta, Los Angeles, so Hubs and I only watch him a couple times during the summer, usually Grand Rapids and Fort Wayne, neither more than 100 miles from us.

Truthfully until the plane took off for Florida, I thought Tracey would call saying he had changed his mind and was going to Fort Wayne after all. After he comtemplated all the conversations between college coaches he would miss during the weekend, I didn't think he could do it. It's not a matter of trust in Landon's care, (we did squat anyway, except show up for every game in support of the best player on the planet, or should he need us if he was hurt) but Tracey knows most of the coaches in the tight world of basketball. Can you see them popping questions to me about Landon's technique, agility, or fade-away jump shot? Umm, no but I gotta say, I'm biased as heck where this young man's basketball skills are concerned. Honestly, I cannot imagine ANY Division 1 college that would not benefit enormously from his prowess as point guard/defender/outside shooter/ball handler/play maker/and all around assist dude who routinely makes other players look and play better. Any. Division. 1. Team. Flat out. He 'sees' the floor in ways other players don't. He just keeps getting better. Yeah, it's all good.

But Tracey and family flew to Florida and the job of game-stat-texter was left to me. Which I totally blew the first game! We were stinking late. No excuse, our hotel was like 10 feet away! I always like to be early and watch the team warm up. I thought each half was 20 minutes, we got there about the 12 minute mark. Ugh. But it wasn't that bad, each half is 16 minutes. In these tournaments, the games on Thursday and Friday's are called pool play (?) something like that. It's how high your team gets seeded in your division for the tourney, which starts Saturday morning. When Saturday rolls around, lose 1 and you're done. So the first 3 games were not the most important ones, yet you want to do well to be seeded high. Well, we lost the first game by 3 points. Not a good way to start the tourney. They weren't in sync and it showed. Lousy game. Period.

Fort Wayne's Spiece Fieldhouse (home of the Gym Rats, quirky, love that name) is quite a place. We've been watching Landon play there occasionally for about 8 years. It has 7 basketball courts, a private workout gym for paying members, a shop loaded with t-shirts, shoes, and sports gear. But it's the entrance and signage I find interesting. Everyone knows Indiana is one of the biggest basketball states around. There's tons of framed uniforms from famous players (Larry Bird) and coaches (Hoosier's Bobby Knight-I think I'm gonna be sick) hanging as you walk in the building. Plus a quote from the Fieldhouse owner Tom Spiece, bragging about the size of Indiana's high school's gyms. Funny.

I never think Landon's team plays particularly well in the a.m. Might have something to do with teenage boys staying together in hotel rooms, video games, eating junk food and lack of sleep. I'm just guessing here. Naturally, The Family's 2nd game is at 11:30. Could be worse, they've played as early as 8:30 before. Not a pretty sight. Lots of puffy eyelids (looks more like teenage girls who spent the night bawling). I should really be more clear when I say, The Family. At this tournament, The Family had 4 teams. One team for each age group, 14 through 17, all named, The Family. But only the 16U (U meaning 16 and under) has Landon (and his 2 doting grandparents).

The game is about to start. The coaching staff has not been very good about supplying water for the players, so we stopped at Meijer (yes, Fort Wayne has a Meijer-yay) and buy a 12 pack of water. John walks over to the team's side of the court, hands Landon 2 bottles of water and 2 sticks of gum (Dude is coordinated. He can chew, run, dribble, shoot, set up plays, defend and make it look effortless all at the same time. Umm, Landon not grandpa). The whole team looks as though none of them feel very well. You gotta sleep guys. We hope for the best as the game starts. I'm determined to text a better game to Shannon and Tracey and keep Landon's stats at the same time. No, I do not possess Landon's multitasking abilities. Watching the game, using a smart-ass phone and writing down stats are approximately 2 too many things to do at one time for this gram. When Tracey is texting a game to me, he writes all kinds of stuff, floater, put back, terms I know nothing about, plus he includes the whole team. With me, unless someone gets hurts, a technical is called, the coach is being a pudgy jerk, or a kid (besides Landon) is having a superlative game, I concentrate only on Landon's shots and stats, and both team's score. Tracey seems content (I know it drives him batty not to be here in person) with what I send him. At least he always knows who's leading and how many points our boy has. Had I known what was about to happen in the next 16 minutes, I would have/should have been recording. The entire half. Here's the first half texts because I haven't figured out how to copy and paste more than 1 text at a time. Ugh, my cross to bear:

Over 100 colleges had coaches watching players, ok Landon...

Warming up now.
Hugged me, told grandpa he doesn't feel well. Starting.
6-0 us, L with a 3. Another 3 for L, 9 zip. Another 3 for L, 14-0.
Another 3 for L, 20-0.
(Shannon) WOW!
Another 3 for L, blocked a shot too. 20-1. He's got 15, not many coaches here tho. 22-5, 10 min left.
Another 3 for L. For L, he's got 18 of our 27.
Coach cannot find a reason to yell, though he did have a turnover.
Another 3 for L. First miss. 30-5. Not planted.
(Shannon) Michigan is there, so that's good-Edwin is calling all excited and so is Rayshawn.
Jumper L. Time out, 3 min left, 36-12. L has 23.
Another 3 for L. Another 3 at the buzzer, he's got 29. 44-14.
(Shannon) that's 9-3's?
Right and one short jumper, he missed one long shot all half.
Dad's taking credit, gave him 2 sticks of Juicy Fruit. Oh boy.
(Shannon) apparently tl (Tracey Lowder) told him he'd buy him shoes if he scored 30 in a game. Or it could be the juicy fruit.

Well, what is there left to say? The Family went on win the game easily. Landon played very little during the second half-no need with the score that lopsided. And rest those starters for the next game, which just might be very close. Game 3 is Friday afternoon, then we're done with seeding. Another easy win. Cute little 30 year old gal sitting next to me, not old enough to have a son on the team. No, she is dating one of the coaches of, The Buckeyes (from Chicago-I know, makes no sense. The team is from Chicago, but the coach graduated from Ohio State. Huh?) She politely asks if I'm # 4's grandmother? No, # 0 is my grandson, I reply (# 4 is a big blonde-she seemed embarrassed). But she recovered nicely after Landon tossed in a couple of 3's in a row. I said, yeah, he's been having a good day shooting 3's. She slapped a hand over her mouth and squealed, "is he the young man everyone's talking about? Had so many 3 pointers in a game this morning?" "Yup, that's Landon!" She looked confused until I explained that I'm the only one who calls Drew, Landon. Only because it's his name.

Shortly after the game, I get a text from Landon: "I'm in a 3 point shooting contest tonight at Northside High School." OK, now we have something to do that night. Can't believe how many people show up, the gym is packed! (Remember how crazy those Indiana folks are about their basketball and gym size)? They start with the 14 year olds, one player on each side of the court. Five chairs, evenly spaced along the 3-point line, each chair holds 3 basketballs. The players start by one chair in the corner, shooting as fast as they can before moving to the next chair with another 3 balls. Perfect score would be 15. The shot clock is set at 30 seconds. You're not really pitted against the other player as much as you are against the ticking clock. After all the players of that age group are done, there's either a winner or a play-off of those who tied. Same set up, but timer is set at 15 seconds. Landon's 16-U division (only 1 player from each team can enter the contest) has maybe 14-18 kids in line. Landon scores 8 in the first round, tying with a couple other kids. But my man comes through, hitting 4 shots in 15 seconds to win his age division. Gets a round of applause and a winning plaque, which he promptly brings over to me. Hubs and I leave just as they're starting the dunk contest. Unless you're 7 feet tall, it's impossible to see cause everyone is now gathered in a huge circle surrounding half the court.

Landon's team wins both games on Saturday to qualify for the semi-finals on Sunday morning. Landon plays well in both games, scoring 11 in the first one. He does not feel well in 5th game, he's pale and bending over a lot, so sits out most of the first half, sipping water. Landon ends up with 18 points, with several college coaches (including Michigan's Beilein and MSU's Izzo, sitting one chair apart from each other, but pretty much ignoring that fact, no love lost there I think) on one side of the court. Over a hundred colleges are represented with coaches watching certain players.

Landon, front row, 2nd from right. The reigning 16-U national champs, 2017

The Family landed a team in the semi-finals in every age division. Amazing. All 4 teams win their semi's. We win by a dozen points, Landon's game is solid, scoring 8, with several assists and rebounds. The championship game is better. Landon has 13 the first half, game total of 18, sitting out the final minutes because we're up by 30!! Three of the 4 'Family' teams win their divisions. Only the 17-U lose (we'll remedy that little issue next year, Landon's 17th birthday is in a couple weeks). Landon is picked as one of the top 5 players of the whole tournament, averaging 15 points a game. I truly believe it's based more than on just his average point total. It's the 'way' he plays. Intensity, court skills, unselfish play. After pictures with the trophy, we collect the kid and head back to Jackson. We're all bushed but pumped. Shannon and Tracey will be home the next day and our super hero status will falter, although Landon's team fared about the best with us as fabulous substitutes during their many tournaments this season. Just sayin. Landon tells me to keep the 3-point plaque, I'm thrilled, though his parents might be a lot less than.

A week later I'm sitting next to Landon at Peyton's final concert at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. "Do you want your plaque back," I asked? "No, why," he counters? "Because I'm deciding where to hang it and don't want to make a nail hole if you want it back." He turns and says seriously, "pound the nail gram."

It's been a good summer. No, a great summer. Peyton with her European concert tour. Watching Jovi get cuter by the day. Landon with another great season of displaying his hoops talent. And growing a couple inches. Maybe the biggest news is getting his first 2 basketball scholarship offers from colleges, Toledo and Northern Illinois. Not the biggest or best baskeball schools-yet. So I guess it's officially started. Let the bidding war begin. The line forms on my back deck. Do not park on the grass, Landon's grandpa hates that. Now exactly who are you, why do you want my boy, and what kind of playing time we talking...

City of Lights...

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?"

Staying limber by the Baltic Sea. Singer/dancer Peyton, 2017...

Niagara Falls...

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.

My incredible Niagara Falls, 2017...

Italy...

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.

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.

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)

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

My hand blown glass vase from Murano, 2016...

Fashion-Senseless...

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).

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

Obviously I need to sit when pulling these on..