Fringe Friends...

Most of them have been on the fringe. My fringe. Almost out of my peripheral vision, but still there. Definitely, still there. People I know, but not real well, or haven’t been very close to. Sometimes, barely an acquaintance, friend or family member of a friend. Now someone from my outer edge-not often thought about-fringe friends just sprang back to the forefront. Which flooded my head with another fringe friend from way back. Here’s the story on 2 of my peripheral vision friends.

One of my besties, Jeanne from Davenport, mid-80’s, at a state bowling tourney...

I always tended to be skeptical when a young couple joined our church. Terrible to even think like that or admit it, but I did. Often. Our congregation was ancient when we started attending in 2004, and we were considered fairly young members. I was in my early 50’s. But this stunning couple. Wow. Her name was Brittany. She was a beautiful blonde. His name was Brandon. He was tall, shy and fair-haired. They were engaged to be married at Central. Thus the skepticism. I believe if you wanted to get married at Central but were not members, the cost for having your wedding there was astronomical. A mere pittance if you belonged. A few times a year, a young couple would join our church right before they uttered their vows, never to be seen at Central again. My former church, built around 1930 has a breathtaking sanctuary. Young traditional couples sought to start their married life saying their vows at Central. Memorable.

You can easily see why wedding vow pictures would be awesome at Central...

But Brittany and Brandon proved me wrong. I’m surprised I ever crossed paths with them really. My job as Parish Visitor was tending to the needs of the elderly from our congregation. Mostly those who could no longer make it to weekly services. Their hunger for news from the church and conversations (about almost anything) was palpable whenever I knocked on their door, or walked into the care facility where they now lived. And that’s how our paths crossed. Brittany was studying to become an RN, and worked at a local nursing home while going to school. A couple of our congregation members now lived there so I visited every couple weeks. I’d run into Brittany every once in a while. After she and Brandon were married they continued to make Central their house of worship. A while later they had a baby girl followed by a boy (both with unusual names) a couple years later. Brittany got her RN degree and changed jobs.

If you’ve kept up with my blog, this is the approximate time I became disillusioned with organized religion in general and everything surrounding the Methodist Church. It wasn’t pretty. Still working on that little issue. Getting right with God. (Thanks for your patience God). Now, on with the story. It’s safe to say, I have not given Brittany, Brandon or their kids much thought since I retired from Parish Visiting in 2013.

Impressive house of worship...

Until recently. We moved 160 miles southeast of Muskegon in 2015. Our local newspaper is part of a conglomerate which allows me to keep tabs on Muskegon’s news, which I do a couple times a week. Scanning the Muskegon Chronicle, I started reading a story about a young couple. Oh, oh, don’t like where this is heading. Brittany had filed for divorce from Brandon earlier this year. She was out with a male hospital coworker on a Friday night when she was confronted by Brandon in a parking lot in downtown Muskegon. Brandon started shooting, killing Brittany instantly, then shooting the guy Brittany was with. Brandon drove off to a secluded spot near where he and Brittney lived and killed himself. A couple days later the other young man, Tommy died. Brittany was 28, Brandon, 34. Leaving 2 kids under 10 without parents. Although I have trouble bringing up many conversations with Brandon, this has not been the issue with Brittany. She has haunted my thoughts for 2 weeks. I feel so bad about her tragic death and for her kids. My hope is because she wasn’t even 30, Brittany’s mom is young enough to raise her kids. And I’m stunned, just stunned that I knew another fringe friend who was killed by another person. Never in my life did I imagine I would know people who were intentionally killed by someone else. Who would think of such a thing? Blows me away.

The other fringe friend happened while I was living in Davenport over 30 years ago. Remember while we lived there, 2 people were brutally murdered (separate and different cases) that I knew. It was my story called, Murder she Wrote. But this peripheral friend was not murdered. I honestly can’t remember her real name, which is beyond pitiful. But everyone called her Beanie.

I was on 3 bowling leagues at the time. Two were morning leagues, more to hone your bowling skills. There was no prize money. We only paid for our bowling, so the cost was minimal. But that third league was a serious group of women bowlers. This bowling alley was fantastic. It had 64 lanes-filled to the brim-every night. Our league started about 6, and there was no dinking around because the place had another 3 or 4 leagues starting around 8:30. I vaguely remember our league had about 12 teams with 5 gals on each team. Man were they competitive. I was a pretty good bowler, though certainly not the top bowler on my team, let alone the whole league. I was probably carrying an average in the low 160’s, but there were SEVERAL gals on our league who would be devastated if they ever bowled a game in that minuscule 160 range.

One of our yearly state bowling tourneys, Pat, Jeanne, Marilyn, me and Dee...

Beanie was on a team in our league. And to be truthful, I coveted absolutely everything about her. I was in my mid-30’s at the time and I think she was a little younger. Let me just put out there a few things about Beanie that I still think about. She was adorable. Petite with curly medium brown hair, I felt like an Amazon thug (or slug) next to her. I was insanely jealous of her team, which makes no sense. (I loved my team. Some of the best friends I’ve ever had. Mary Lou, Pat, Mary Ellen, Jeanne and me). But Beanie bowled with her mom. The relationship between my Mom and I was tenuous at best and it was almost painful to watch how easily and happy Beanie and her mom were bowling together every week. I think there might have been another sister on their team too. Geez. Beanie was an extraordinary bowler. That tiny gal could zip that dang 15 pound bowling ball down the lane with such precision. (Why couldn’t I throw a nice hook like that? No, my stinking straight ball looked like I belonged in a junior league). I was totally smitten, yet intimidated by everything-Beanie.

Beanie was married and had 2 kids, one of each, maybe 8 and 5. One spring day I opened the Quad City Times and there’s a picture of Beanie. First picture was when she was little and won the best Easter bonnet in the Easter parade at her elementary school. Twenty some years later, Beanie’s daughter won the same contest at the same school. So cute. Still, kinda envious. I remember being at Beanie’s house once. She had a Tupperware party for me. Her house was cute, kids were adorable, her pumpkin dessert, delicious. There was nothing in which Beanie didn’t excel.

It might have taken me a few Tuesday’s at bowling to realize Beanie was missing from her team. Their team had a sub every week. Soon, her mom wasn’t showing up either. News trickled our way that Beanie was sick. Very sick. I think it was leukemia. Within a matter of months, Beanie was gone. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I thought she had EVERYTHING. Where was I during this fog which lasted a few years? Being a normal, HEALTHY wife/mom/bowler/friend. Busy coveting what I thought I didn’t have. No wonder God personally wrote, ‘Denise, thou shalt not covet’ to clue me in. Finally. I had envied everything about Beanie.

Brittany and Brandon got married right here a few years ago...

For over 30 years, I still reminisce about the five year period when Beanie’s and my life intertwined. Sporadically and mostly from afar. Maybe, “coveted everything about her” might have been a tad over the top. Beanie’s young life, snuffed out just when her light was shining so bright you needed to wear shades in her presence. What is it about some people? That special ‘thing’ they possess? How can some people have such an enormous affect on someone they barely know? Thirty years after the fact. I don’t have a clue. But I’m glad Beanie and Brittany were in my life, at least for a little while. Fringe friends. So close to the edge peripherally, but still there. Hanging on. Forever in my mind. And heart...

The Seasons Of Neese...

I’ve had a pretty isolated life, having lived in only 2 of our 50 great states so far-Iowa and Michigan. It’s not as though we didn’t have chances for change during our decades of married life, though it seems we were never very willing to take a big risk either. We wanted to live South Dakota or Minnesota early on, but timing, job opportunities, or commitments were never quite right.

Joshua obviously loved winter a lot more than me, 1980...

I can’t ever remember liking winter, even as a kid. I didn’t like ice skating, wearing skirts to school when it was 30 below (actual temperature, not wind chill) or hiking to Benson’s Hill to sled. Why did I not suggest, insist or beg early in our marriage that we move on some place with a kinder climate than the Midwest? We always seriously looked right in our own neighborhood, or backyard, never thinking or daring to escape the evil clutches of winter.

Could have a lot to do with my parents. Ties that bind and all that. Seems like I tried to escape their sometimes suffocating grip on my life, only to remain relatively close for decades. Guilt? Perhaps. Queen of guilt, my title-worn proudly.

Iowa knows how to do snow! Dad on the plow, 1962....

And when we finally made a fairly big move, 750 miles east to Michigan, we thought it would be for 3 to 5 years. And what did we have planned after that? We assumed we’d move right back to Iowa. Maybe this mentality had more to do with my small closed mind than actually staying close to my folks. Don’t know.

What I do know is that after 67 years of life, I’m typing on my little iPad on a Sunday in my favorite chair. It’s late April and the furnace is running. My fingers are cold and my feet are freezing. Ugh.

We all know when March 20 came and went a month ago, there was a lack of noticeable change in the weather. Who’s the dipstick in charge of stating spring starts on 3-20-18? Clearly we were in for at least another month of winter’s nasty grasp? It’s not like this year is unusual. This is the way the Midwest’s weather works. I think I have a better understanding of when seasons change. Or really should.

Oh the incredible smell of these little flowers...

Let’s just start with spring. I think we all want the same thing with spring. Days with temperatures in the 60’s. Lots of sunshine with the promise of blooming flowers. Gentle rains, longer days, less darkness. (BTW, since I’m now in charge, that whole daylight savings crap is out the window. No one walks to school anymore. Kiddos are on the school bus or in mom’s BMW, waiting to be dropped off. Farmer’s don’t need that extra hour during our endless winter. I go to work in the dark, so should you).

So when exactly do we get this fabulous season called Spring? With a stretch it might be the month of May. Let me just call it. Spring will last the entire month of May, and have some near perfect weather.

How about our favorite season? Summer. When is summer-really? The months included (not nearly long enough, but I am trying to realistic) are June, July and August. No room for debate. It is what it is. We kindly and respectfully ask for low humidity (Mother Nature always gets a chuckle out of my yearly request) temps in the 70’s and 80’s, never reaching higher than 90-ever. Thanks. If you must, this temperature range can be encouraged to stay in use the entire month of September without complaints from anyone on earth. Promise.

Graham and Adam enjoying summer a couple years ago...

Fall. Autumn sounds better though, don’t you think? Spectacular colors through the season. But fall is in a definite spiral downward. Temperatures cool off, we get some wind so the leaves start tumbling down from trees and flying through the air. I like fall, though I’m not crazy when all the trees are bare and brown. I’m giving the months of September, October and November to the season called Fall.

Fall colors in all their splendor, but winter’s looming ever closer...

So far I’ve got one measly month for Spring, but a month of fantastic weather. Lots of blooming flowers, including 2 of my favorites, Lily’s of the Valley and Lilacs. Three gorgeous months of Summer with abundant sunshine, and just the right amount of rain during the cool of the night, maybe with some rolling thunder included. The perfect weather for the mighty Midwest to grow enough crops to feed the world. But free of tornadoes, floods, and drought. Fall, our cool down season to dry the crops and harvest them from the fields.

Breathtaking beauty of an Iowa field...

But that leaves 5 months unaccounted for. 5. Really. Five. I’m not unreasonable. OK we may need a bit of winter. But. December, January, February, March and April. How can 5 months possibly last this long every year? (Oh I would love, absolutely love to give the month of April to Spring. This might be a deal breaker). But back to the dead zone. Winter. Winter is a time for cleansing. Done with floaty stuff flying through the air for everyone with allergy issues. Let’s give folks a break with all their allergy medications. A time for plants, trees and animals to go dormant for a spell. (I’ve never thought of it before, but maybe I need a dormant time every year too). Not only is winter way too long, the severity it needs to thrive and be happy is just horrendous. Is it really necessary for the temperature to dip below zero? Ever? I should say, certainty not. We do need our quota of snow. I can do a little snow now and then. How about a couple inches, maybe let it hang around for a day or 2, but then the temps should spike up into the 40’s for a week with some sunshine to give everyone a renewed outlook on life again. Isn’t that why God made Canada and regions further north? They get the bulk of the snow, then during spring thaw it flows down to soak the ground, and fill our rivers for the rest of us. Sounds about right doesn’t it?

So how did I get so smart where our weather’s concerned? Well, my yearly life is divided up in segments which make my seasons. It’s Hubs fault really. He’s told me for half a century my internal thermostat is broken. My temperature gauge is faulty. Not nearly as off kilter as it used to be when we first got hitched. A dedicated Tareyton smoker, my fingernails were often tinged blue and my feet were just crunchy little icicles, begging for a thaw. He once told me in all seriousness, “if my feet get cold when I’m hunting, I just think about warming my toes up. The blood starts flowing and in a couple minutes, I can feel the difference. Nice and warm. How come you can’t do that?” Oh pleassssseeeee.

Yes, I’ve been covered in flannel most of my life, this one in 1979...

Through the years, I’ve grown adept with what my body lacks in natural heat resources. I learned to compensate for my shortcomings. At least this very small, insignificant, but terribly uncomfortable one. Two f-words. Get your mind out of the gutter. Nothing that bad. Flannel and fleece. See? There are about 45 days a year (last half of July, most of August) where you might not see me wearing an old flannel shirt. I literally live in them, because my arms are always cold. Always. Rotating my stockpile, mostly made up of ghastly plaids. But they get better, softer, more comfortable with every washing. After a couple years, the cuffs start fraying, and the elbows get transparent. If I ever live anywhere but the desert I can safely say, I’ll always be in a flannel shirt. Worn right on top of another shirt.

A lightweight fleece. Can’t be very cold or there’s a need for more layers...

Then there’s my several levels of fleece. I guess they’re really called throws. You ‘throw’ them on whatever’s chilly. For many years my ‘throws’ were hand knit afghans from Mom. Assorted patterns from granny squares to complicated patterns of cables in various colors. I’ve had ‘throws’ in wool, acrylic and cotton, even felt. Some were so thick, heavy and dense they resembled weighted blankets. Couldn’t move your toes at all when you plopped one on. And suddenly fleece was invented. Lightweight and fairly warm. Good for 3 seasons. But not 4. Not nearly warm enough for the dreaded 5 months of winter. Unless you had several. Trying to stay warm without the bulk and weight. The struggle is real. So the seasons of my life are determined by what throw I’m under on any given day.

I even have a fleece for summer. But it’s flannel. Rarely can I sit and watch TV or work on my blog when my bare limbs are exposed. I start shivering after a few minutes. Even if it’s quite hot. My solution was to make (who am I kidding, I mean had one sewn for me) a longish throw, made of flannel to use during the summer. The throw looks terribly out of place during the hot months because the flannel material has little snowmen all over it. It works for me.

Ha-ha, my summer weight flannel throw with snowmen all over it...

Getting back to the endless season of number 4. Shannon found the answer to my problem (and hers). It’s a fleece throw, but it’s really an electric blanket. I want to say the best gift she’s ever given me, but that girl has fabulous taste in gifts for me from Waterford, Llardo, and Baccarat. Still, the heated throw has been one of the best, most practical gifts she’s ever given me. You plug it in and it has a range from simmer to holy hot flash. Amazing. What’s not so great about this fabulous little throw is the fact I’m still using it every night. And it’s late April. Ugh. But inching ever closer to that magical date of May first. Spring. I’m so ready. My one and only month of Spring better be pretty close to stinking perfect....

My electric fleece. Perfect for Michigan (or Iowa) winter nights...

Staff Meetings...

“I’ve been working on the railroad-all the live long day. I’ve been working in the railroad, just to pass the time away. Can’t you?” Wait, sorry bout that. That’s a song I sing to the babies. I’ve been working at Felician Children’s Center for 2 years now. It’s very fulfilling in a hectic, arm-filled, noisy, drool-dripping, fast-paced, soothing, rocking chair way.

Can’t you hear the whistle blowing?

Outrageously wealthy-1 day a year...

Hubs was on his way out of our seldom used front door for the mail when he quipped, “want anything special?” Because it was a Saturday, I was instantly transported back to: pick a year, any year between 1970-1985. And it had to be early spring. Those were the days. Let me explain. From the beginning.

John’s senior prom, 1966. Three more years, we’d be married...

Someone’s in the kitchen with Betty...

Hubs saw me coming out of the pantry a couple weeks ago. “Honestly Denise, if you’re going to give Ari your old cookbook, you’ve really got to stop using it. It’s falling apart. Literally. Use one of your other Betty Crocker’s. They all have the same recipes.” He’d learn soon enough those famous last words would come back to bite him in the butt.

Unfortunately, Betty cannot be duplicated or replaced...

Living in Her Realm...

Late fall 2017. Shannon emailed me a copy of Landon’s tentative Pioneer basketball schedule after she got it from Tracey. This was Landon’s third year on varsity, and we hoped there was one-2 week window where neither week had Tuesday night games. There was. Good news for us. Now Hubs and I could schedule our winter getaway, missing the bare minimum of Landon’s (Drew to the rest of the world) games.

Landon’s junior season at Pioneer, 2017-2018...

This time frame though would prove dicey for a couple of reasons. Didn’t want to be gone from the daycare the same time as Michelle, who’s getting her masters degree and has to spend time at college out east. Not that my part-time worker status of being gone is a big deal like full-time, detail oriented, organized, multi-talented Michelle. But more than one of us gone at the same time is a strain on our crew and a bit stressful for the babies. The babies quickly grow accustomed to seeing the same faces everyday. They may not be able to vocalize this (but they can voice their displeasure when seeing new faces in the room-loudly), but continuity is of upmost importance in their young lives. Nope, Michelle’s time off was just before the 2 weeks I wanted.

Our new minted 1 year old, Jovi, 2018...

The other reasons were just as important. Usually, we would fly somewhere (lots warmer than blustery Michigan) on Saturday after Landon’s Friday game, but the most magnificent baby in the world turned 1 a couple days before we were leaving. Who could miss Jovi’s fabulous first One-der-ful Birthday Party which was going to be on Saturday, the 13th? Not us. So I started looking at flights to Arizona for Sunday, January 14th. I don’t know why I just skipped over Sunday and booked our flights on the 15th. Monday’s in the flying world is considered a business travel day. When I booked our flights, I don’t think Peyton’s pageant date had been finalized. Certainly Shannon world have mentioned or sent details to me as soon as she got them. However, we were still home on that Sunday. Which would prove to be huge and exciting.

Peyton’s head shot for Jackson Crossroads Miss Outstanding Teen, 2018....

The Friday night game was a disaster. Landon sprained his ankle near halftime and would miss the next 5 games while it healed and he did physical therapy. Jovi however was a shining star at her party. Just getting the hang of walking, she crawled-walked her way through her adoring fans, looking too cute in all her glory.

Jovi’s Birthday Party, 2018...

But that busy weekend belonged to Peyton. She owned it. Hook, line and sinker. She had entered a beauty/talent pageant, Jackson Crossroads Miss Outstanding Teen (2 different age groups, 2 title winners). The only part Peyton struggled with was choosing what to showcase during her talent section of the pageant. It’s not that she doesn’t have talent. Peyton oozes talent from every pore of her being. Beautiful, smart, engaging, she sings and dances far beyond her young age of 13 (14 in a couple weeks). She wanted to accompany her dance routine by singing a song, which is nearly impossible. Dancing takes an enormous amount of energy (lots of breathing), leaving her (and the rest of us) breathless. So she went to a studio, recorded her own singing part, then helped choreograph her dance routine. Oh my, this young lady! Is there anything she can’t accomplish?

Peyton, stretching it out, wherever she is....

Suffice it to say, Peyton won. (Easily, hands down, but this is her grandma doing the writing here). The gown she chose was tangerine and stunning. Simply exquisite. Her platform? Gateway Drugs. This summer she’ll compete for Miss Michigan Teen, the winner goes to the Miss America Pageant.

She’s simply exquisite...

About a month ago Peyton attended a weekend orientation for the Miss Michigan Teen Pageant on the west side of the state. All of the state’s winning contestants were there, getting acquainted, supporting each other and listening to an inspirational speech from Miss America, Cara Munn. How many 13 year olds get to meet and greet Miss America?

Miss America Cara Munn and Peyton, February, 2018...

During Peyton’s tenure as reigning Jackson Crossroads Outstanding Teen, she will attend events, serving as a role model to other young girls. One of the community service projects she’s chosen is reading stories to classrooms of elementary students all over Jackson. (Of course, she’s an avid, voracious reader like her Mom).

Peyton getting crowned Miss Jackson Crossroad Outstanding Teen, January, 2018...

Peyton texted me a couple weeks ago and asked if she could read where I work at Felician Children’s Center? I thought it was a fantastic idea, so I gave her my boss’s email address. Peyton and Tracy talked and Peyton was given permission to read to our classrooms, starting with the babies.

I asked Peyton if she needed to stop and change clothes (you know, gown type duds) before I picked her up from school early? No, she answered. (I was a little bit bummed. I thought she’d be all decked out in queen like clothes, but guess she’d be in normal school clothes). I went to the school office (getting buzzed in, I appreciated the security) waited for her so I could sign her out. In walks this regal young woman. Wearing a light mauve dress, heels and her CROWN. (I looked liked I had worked at waste management for a week straight standing next to her). We zipped down to my school, snapped a couple pictures outside before going in. Peyton had several books picked out for different age groups that we talked about on the ride over.

Arriving at school for story time with Peyton, March, 2018...

We stop and talked to Sister Vicky and Sister Carolyn, outlining where we were headed first. The infant room of course. Any jitters, they’re the easiest to please. Friday afternoon and it’s very quiet throughout the school. JPS had a half day, so they’re long gone. Peyton and I head to my stomping ground, which is pretty quiet. Peyton slips off her shoes, sits on the floor by 5 babies. Four of them are about 10 months old. What I wouldn’t give to have a little video of that reading. Let me set the stage. One of them is crying and immediately climbs on my lap. There, that’s better. But this is about 2 of the little guys. They’re sitting right next to each other, not 18 inches from Peyton. First thought that popped in my head is a Neil Diamond song, Desiree-revised a bit. The 2 boys are totally, I mean totally mesmerized with Peyton. As Neil would croon, “it wasn’t so much her words as such as-“WHO IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT SHINY THING ON HER HEAD? CAN YOU REACH IT? NO, I CAN’T MOVE A MUSCLE!” So stinking cute. Really.

Peyton on left vying for Little Miss Michigan, several years ago...

After 2 quick books, PJ and I move to the 1 year olds, who happen to be eating a snack. Pudding cups. Chocolate pudding. Everywhere. “Ah, is there at least one child semi-clean who can sit in the same vicinity as Peyton?” Nope, not at the moment. While they clean up kids, we walk down the hall when Sister Vicki mentions the 4 year olds will be gong outside soon, could we stop there and read to them before they go?

Peyton...

This turned out to be our best stop of the day. Those kids are a riot. Peyton sat in a low chair with a dozen kids crowding up to her, listening intently. After she read 2 stories, lead teacher Tonya pipes up, “anyone have any questions for Peyton?” Six or eight little arms fly up. The best question? “Can you say bad words when you’re wearing your crown?” Answer was an emphatic, “no, I don’t say bad words. With or without the crown.” Next best. “How long have you been dancing?” “Since I was 4.” I searched my phone and found the picture of Peyton at her first dance recital while the kids converged, “oohing and ahhing.” One little girl kept repeating, “I’m 4, I’m 4.” Like why haven’t I started dancing yet? They were polite, inquisitive, attentive and darling.

Peyton’s first dance recital, 2008...

We back tracked to the 3 year olds where one of my first babies from the infant room scooted as close to Peyton as she could. She was wearing hot pink rain boots, and had a couple of cute little smudges on her adorable face. These kids were inquisitive too, but quiet. Although their teacher Lindsay encouraged them, no one dared ask a question.

The 2 year olds room were just getting up from naps, ready for a snack, so Peyton sat at their long, low rectangular table with them. They were much more curious, getting up from the table to walk around by Peyton, touching her dress, or coming up to me as I sat by the window. You could certainly see the difference in their interest spans by their ages. Glenda and Robyn patiently sat most of them down several times, only to have them get right back up so they could walk around by Peyton again.

Dad, Peyton and mom after she won the crown, 2018...

Back to the One’s room, who were now in the process of getting bundled up in coats, mittens, hats, and boots for a stroller ride outside. It’s spring in Michigan after all. Guess we had gotten sidetracked too long with the older classes. But they were easily swayed (that crown seems to have some magical components) and approached Peyton eagerly, sans pudding. She read as they watched her intently. Just as soon as Peyton finished her last book, Autumn and Amanda quipped, “who’s ready to go outside”? A couple of fleeting glances towards Peyton as they marched into the hall, waiting their turn to be secured in the massive stroller. Story time was over, what’s next?

Peyton 2nd from left with incoming winner and outgoing from last year...

Peyton and I gathered our belongings, said thank you and goodbye to Sister Vicky, who insisted on getting pictures of us. (She’s a wonderful, patient Christian soul, but ruthless with her camera-always snapping pictures). I think Peyton was pleased with our afternoon at Felician’s Children’s Center. The babies through 4 year olds weren’t the only ones learning today. Peyton gained insight on the art of reading and storytelling when sharing books with others. It’s harder than it looks. You have all these words on pages, yet need to share the picture pages with the little folks sitting by you. Plus use expression and eye contact. And answer some quirky, sometimes inappropriate questions. Got to be fast on her feet. And smile, always smile.

While I was driving her home, we talked about some of these things because Peyton’s reading again next week at another elementary school. So the youngest group she will entertain is about the same age of the oldest group she worked with at my school. More complex books to practice during the week. Grandpa’s chaperoning her on that excursion.

2018 Jackson Crossroads winners, Peyton & Alexus...

As we walked into Peyton’s house, she thanked me several times for picking her up and going along with her. But of course, it was this gram who got the most out of our afternoon together. After her big win in January, I suggested she start journaling her year of wearing the crown. She might remember big moments, getting crowned, meeting Miss America. But the little moments will seep away after a few years, unless they’re written down. How she laughed when asked about saying bad words, the expressions on the babies faces as she read them stories. The coy fingers that darted and dared to touch her leg, arm or dress while she was reading. The 4 year olds fascination with Peyton when asked how long she’s been dancing. Hard to believe she’s been dancing her way through people’s hearts for a decade already. When you’re a grandma Peyton, you won’t remember the little stuff from way back. Write it down. Even the silly things. You’ll appreciate and enjoy it more than you realize when you’re older. Much older...

Recital cutouts of Peyton from past years in various costumes...

Friday Night Fish Fry’s...

It started a few months after we moved back to Jackson. Early 2016. Our good friends, Fred and Diane Smith invited us to a Friday night fish fry. (A tradition during Lent in the Catholic Church). Jackson has a boatload of Catholic churches. According to Diane (born and raised Catholic her whole life) Our Lady of Fátima makes the best fish. Plus it wasn’t very far from our house. Sold. Let’s go. It was very good. And just packed with people. Packed.

Our Lady of Fátima, Michigan Center...