The Wigwam & Gordon Twin...

Until a few years ago, my fascination with movies (and celebrities) ran rampant. I just slowly lost interest for a variety of reasons. My hearing loss was a biggie. Many theaters offer headphones, which I’ve used for years. But even with the headphones, I struggle with dialogue. Anyone speaking with an accent, a soft or intimate conversation, or the most annoying, LOUD background music just drowns out and muddles all the voices for me.

Snuck out to a movie (horror flick) by myself. I’m still traumatized, 1962...

I’ve loved movies since I was a kid, but going to them was strongly discouraged. Ah, there’s part of the pull. Never been a fan of horror movies though. Got cured of that when I snuck into our local theater, The Orpheum when Dad was working overtime and I was 11. Didn’t realize what the movie was about (but strangely couldn’t make myself walk out either) and it haunts me to this day. When I got a little older and Mom and Dad couldn’t control my every move, much of my free time (and money) was spent going to movies.

There were some fabulous, fancy theaters in Sioux Falls and Sioux City in my heyday. Winding staircases about 12 feet wide (Hubs always preferred the balcony when we were on a date-no need for further explanation). But there was one more funky option for us when we wanted to go to the movies back in the day. The Drive In movie. What a concept! Probably not the best deterrent for an unwanted pregnancy however. Basically it just a cleared, fenced field of several acres, usually a few miles out of town. A gigantic white screen was the main focal point. Long rows of graveled, slightly elevated surface, evenly spaced with metal fence posts and a heavy alien like box hanging on each side of the post. You cozied your ginormous 1950’s-1970’s vehicle so this metal box was fairly close to the driver’s window. This was your modern day surround sound. Actually the sound was brutally shitty, but we loved it. Out in the middle of a field, pitch black, steamed up windows, what’s not to love if you’re a teen in lust, I mean love?

Might have been heading to The Wigwam after supper. John & I, 1965...

There was a small building in the middle of all these rows, with an office and space for running the film, restrooms, plus a good sized area selling concessions. Start times depended on the month. June and July it was still pretty light out until after 9 pm. The closest Drive In for kids living around Rock Valley was in Hawarden, about 30 miles away. It was called The Wigwam. I believe there was a midweek special (maybe Tuesday’s) where a carload of kids (or a whole family-but none of us were thinking about families just yet-at least not intentionally) could get in for a dollar. No, not a dollar a piece. A dollar a carload. I kid you not. What a cheap night of fun! We were young, carefree (and sometimes careless). This entertainment was a big part of my youth.

Hubs just told me about a night at The Wigwam (minus-me-his-long-standing-suffering-better-half). He had borrowed his brother Arlyn’s 1959 Thunderbird and had a couple of guys with him on the way to Hawarden. Another Rock Valley rabble rouser zipped past him doing about 100 mph. Gulp. And gave John and his buddies the finger. Instead of realizing they were telling him he was indeed number 1, Hubs took offense. Floored the T-bird and passed the dudes who had issued the errant finger. This was done on 2 lane hi-ways. There was some pushing and shoving when they all got parked, but it went no further. How did any of these yahoos survive their stupid youth decisions? Grace of God. Life wasn’t idyllic, but we had it pretty good.

A vivid memory from The Wigwam. John and I were on a double date. This was after he had worked for a farmer for about 10 hours that day, baling hay. Brutal work in Iowa’s 90 degree hot, humid summer days. His hands always fascinated me (and made me rather sick) after he was done working. From the tips of his fingers to almost his elbows were covered with slivers of hay. Some infected from his hard work. In the middle of the movie, John starts snoring. Instead of trying to get to second base, he was out like a light. I was mortified.

After Hubs got his whopper of a 90 cc Bridgestone motorcycle in 1965 (aww) we often rode it to the Wigwam. John would snap a blanket in back where I sat, and we’d park all the way in the back and lay on the blanket. As long as you were in the general vicinity of a noisy receptor, you could make out the dialogue. (I don’t remember complaining about the hard gravel surface either. Hmmm). By this time we were no longer really, truly interested in what was happening on the screen. One night another couple from Rock Valley begged us to change places with them. Their car for our blanket sprawled in the back 40. Nope.

So many changes were in store for us. Just a couple years later we were married. Yet the lowly Drive In movie would still play a part in our lives. The rules of entertainment would change however. Radically. No more spur of the moment, hop in the car, let’s eat out, and see a flick. We had no money. And now we were a family of 3. We made our own entertainment. If there was any discretionary money, we could buy a six pack (for the guys), make a dessert (for all of us), put on a pot of coffee and have another couple over for a rousing night of Pinochle. The kids were always included because none of us could afford a babysitter except for very special occasions.

Yup, Shannon was busy reviewing The Godfather with her friends, 1972...

We were living in Sioux City, the year was either fall of ‘72, or spring of ‘73. Our precocious daughter Shannon was about 2. Hubs and I were itching to see the latest movie catching all the Oscar buzz. We discussed it for days. Explaining in detail what was expected of our very bright little girl. We were going to a movie-together at the Gordon Twin Drive In. In our 1972 Chevy Vega, which was a hatchback. So we could lay down the back seat, spread blankets and pillows, bringing along enough stuffed animals we barely had room to squeeze in. But it was all for Shannon. So she could sleep comfortably while we watched a grownup movie. Shannon promised she would eat her snack and go right to sleep. She lied.

All was going pretty well, considering it was kind of loud in the car with the speaker hanging on the window. But it was very late, Shannon was quiet and we thought she was asleep. The movie we were watching? The Godfather. At one crucial point during the movie, the studio mogul had refused to give a small movie part to one of the mobster’s relatives. Movie boss’ decision was about to be swayed the other way as he woke up in bed screaming. When to our delight we hear this tiny voice from the backseat, “why is there a horsey in bed with that man?” Ok, we’re done here. Let’s go home.

When we moved to Michigan in 1987, Jackson still had a Drive In movie. It only stayed open a couple of years after that, but we took the kids several times. Still an inexpensive form of entertainment. I’d pop a couple of huge brown grocery bags full of popcorn at home. By the time we were ready to leave, there would be melted butter stains all over the bags. Yum. Take a cooler full of pop, and John would stop on his way home from work to pick up some candy. Now the movies at the Drive In were all about comfort. Off with the bra, on with the sweats and I was ready to go. The kids brought along sleeping bags, chairs and were in and out of the van a dozen times before they ever started showing the previews. Mind you, we were now in the eastern time zone, so the movie didn’t start until almost 10:30. Ugh. Any thoughts about smooching our way through the movie-not gonna happen with this brood.

Joshua & Adam ready to go to another movie, 1986...

After we moved to Muskegon in 1994, lo and behold, another Drive In movie complex. Four screens, all showing double features. Yikes, you didn’t get out until after 2 am. Not long after we moved there were some articles in the Chronicle saying the Getty Street Drive In was going to close and a sale was pending for the land. There was such an uproar from the people, the owner changed his mind. Twenty years later, it’s still open every summer. When the grands would visit during the summer, (each one always stayed separately), top of our ‘to do’ was a trip to the Drive In. (A day at Lake Michigan’s beach was right there too). It was the kid’s choice for the movies. Still made the popcorn and brought our own pop and treats too. And lost the bra before we left home. Good times.

I fell kind of bad for kids who don’t get to experience this simple form of entertainment. Family style. Snacks, pillows, mosquito spray, walking in their jammies and flip flops with a parent to go to the bathroom during intermission. No more obnoxious hanging box spewing forth tinny sound. Now when you pay admission, they hand you a small piece of paper. On it is 4 different FM radio stations, each corresponding with which your movie screen choice. I haven’t been to a Drive In movie since 2014. I think Peyton was the last grand visiting that year. I’m bummed. I can’t bear to think our great-granddaughter Jovi will not have fun watching a movie outside, at night. I believe we will have to head to Muskegon next summer and let her enjoy that experience too...

Jovi looks ready for her first Drive In movie experience...

happy mudder’s day...

I have strong feelings concerning Mother’s Day. My mother thought it was the most important holiday of the year. Mom’s yearly gauge of validating her life’s work surrounding motherhood. I always bought her something nice, including a box of Fanny May milk chocolate butter creams or Marsh Bars chocked full of pecans. But nothing was as important as getting Mom the right Mother’s Day card. The card had to be perfect. 

This little piggy went to market...

The First Of Many Lasts...

I was surprised by the lump in my throat. It started forming the closer to Fort Wayne we got. I knew there were going to be lumps this coming year, just didn’t expect it last weekend. Nothing really special about the time or place, yet there it sat. The lump. All weekend.

It’s pretty electric watching him on the court. Landon, 2017...

Landon (Drew to the rest of the world) has been on a travel basketball league half of his life. He’s always played a click above where he was supposed to. First only age wise. When he was 10, he was on a team of 11 year olds. That’s just always the way he played. It didn’t take watching him very long, although he was younger, he was already better than most. So playing above him made him a better player. He was shooting hoops when he was 2 and Tracey was a coach. He knew how to run the floor when he was 5. And could outshoot much older kids on free throws by the time he was 7. 

Look at how little our favorite hoopster is strutting his stuff, 2007...

But the real basketball competition started when he was in junior high. Not so much playing with the school team, but these travel teams/leagues started in earnest during 7th grade. And there have been some awesome players we’ve watched through the last few years. Landon included. Duh.

Landon showing one of his many trophies, 2011...

We first went to Fort Wayne, Indiana 5 years ago. Not a quick or easy trip when we were living in North Muskegon. Maybe 5 hours of driving. To watch our 11 year old grandson tear up the court. Spiece Fieldhouse sits right off interstate 69. A funky, massive structure honoring basketball in general and Indiana hoops in particular. (That whole state of Indiana is wacko for basketball, think the movie, Hoosiers). Glass framed-used-sweaty-worn-out-uniforms (but famous like Larry Bird) adorn the walls. Men’s basketball shoes from sizes 10 to 20 fill glass display cases in the halls. Lots of quotes and autographs hanging around. Part health-club, part sports arena but we notice very little of that when we show up, along with hundreds of other parents, friends and grands shelling out big bucks to watch teenage boys sweat, jump and score.

New team and number this summer. Same great shooter....

My only complaint. The cost. I know it’s expensive to host one of these tournaments. Eight courts, games from 8 a.m. until 9 or 10 at night. Just think of the number of refs needed for 3 days of hoops. Scorekeepers, supervisors, maintenance, gals who run the concessions, complaint department, T-shirt/sports paraphernalia shop. I get it. Still. We see one game on Friday night. Ten bucks a piece. Saturday it’s 15 bucks each for the day, which is usually worthwhile because Landon’s team is good. They’re scheduled for 2 games, but because they win them both have to play another 2. My butt is sore from the bleachers but I get my money’s worth. Sunday is another 10 dollars each but as long as they win, they keep playing. Landon’s team wins the first one, then loses in the semifinals. They’re done this weekend.

What I’d like to see is a senior special for 20 bucks. I almost went up to the main desk to complain. (The ticket gals are sick of seeing me walk up and give them my spiel for 5 years in a row now). But then Landon introduced me to the owner. I wanted a T-shirt like Landon wears for warmups, but didn’t see one at the kiosk or pro shop. The owner (about the age of Joshua, our middle kid) said they were out of long sleeves but thought he might have some short sleeved ones in the office. (Might have helped that Landon now plays for the Indy Heat Gym Rats from Spiece Field House, so he’s on the owner’s home team). Yeah, there’s that. Owner didn’t ask our names, where he could find us later, or if he would even recognize this retired couple 2 minutes later. He knew exactly where we’d be. Watching Landon’s next game. He saunters up right before the game starts, hands John 8 Nike, Indy Heat Gym Rats T-shirts in various sizes and colors. Smiles and says, “here ‘ya go, enjoy them.” Are you kidding me? Damn. He just had to be so stinking nice.

The Spiece Fieldhouse owner with the cool shirt giveaways...

Last summer I blogged about a weekend in Fort Wayne at Spiece Fieldhouse. Landon wasn’t even supposed to be there. His travel league team had committed to a tourney in Florida, so Shannon and Tracey decided to make it a family vacation. Rented a house for the week. At the last minute, Landon’s lame-ass coach at the time nixed flying to Florida and said they were going to drive to Fort Wayne instead. The Lowder’s, minus Landon went on the vacation and we got to tag along with Landon for the weekend. It turned out to be one of our most memorable weekends and Landon’s best basketball ever. (I seriously thought it was a conspiracy. Something about an easy going weekend with the grandparents, no high expectations. And he did it all. Just sayin). He had a superb tournament, scoring 29 points in the first half of a game, winning the 3 point shootout in his age division. Then his team went on to win the whole tourney. 

It’s going to be strange not going to tournaments here...

This season is different for Landon. New team, several different players, new coach (thank heavens). Which in turn means learning all new plays, signals, teammate’s personalities etc. Since he’s the new kid on the block he’s been playing catch-up for a month. This Fort Wayne Run N Slam tourney certainly wasn’t the best he’s ever played, but he did have his moments. During the first game Sunday morning against a tough Chicago team, the score was tied with 4 minutes left. Landon zipped off 9 quick points to ensure the win, putting them in the quarterfinals. Can’t keep a great player (even if he’s new to the team) down for long.

So this lump I carried around all weekend. Why? Probably the last time Landon will play at Spiece. I feel like I’m losing an old friend. I’m comfortable at Spiece. I like watching him play there. I know my way around town. Sort of. I don’t want this part of Landon’s basketball to be over yet. 

Winning the 3 point contest last July. And he gave me the trophy...

There’s a couple more tournaments in May, then AAU takes off the month of June for individual high school things. July, they’re back on the court, hot and heavy. Flitting all over the country, Virginia, Nevada, too far for us. 

There will be no more AAU basketball for Landon after July because his  junior year is the last time he can play. This winter will be his last for Pioneer high school basketball, and time for serious decision making on which college basketball scholarship to accept. (We’re hoping for several more than the 5 he has now). Seems like I just started watching him play. How can this part be almost over? I’m not ready. I mean, I’m really not ready. I’m gonna be a mess during basketball season this winter. More lumps to get used to. Sweet and precious but a little painful too...

My new favorite team shirt, thanks to the owner...

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...