Am I a Michigander, a Michiganian, a Michigander, a Michiganite, Michiganese, or a Michigine?

Well now I guess it is official.  As of April 8, 2019 I have become a Michigander.

Six months ago my husband and I moved from northern Illinois to St Johns, Michigan – just about 20 miles north of the state capital of Lansing.  Never in our wildest dreams did we think we would spend the last years of our life in Michigan.

Both of us were born and raised in Illinois.  My husband was in the USAF for 20 years so he spent much of his early adult life out of the state.  However, upon his retirement he returned to what was home.

I spent a couple of years out-of-state also but most of my 71 years has been spent in Illinois.

Illinois

  • corn fields
  • Abraham Lincoln
  • boyhood home of Ronald Reagan
  • Chicago Cubs
  • Major winter storms, deadly tornadoes and spectacular heat and cold waves.
  • The worst state in the union for financial stability

Last October we moved to Michigan and rented a small house.  We were not sure we would like St Johns and did not want to make a commitment until we determined whether we liked it or not.  We followed our daughter and her family here and said we would give it a year’s trial.

After six months we like Michigan, we discovered we like Michigan.

Michigan

  • The Mackinac Bridge – one of the longest suspension bridges in the world
  • Battle Creek – cereal capital of the world
  • lighthouses
  • Great Lakes
  • Motown Records
  • apples

So we purchased a condo and on April 8 – my birthday – we signed the closing documents.

All this week we have been packing boxes and moving the smaller items.  Since we moved only a mile away we were able to actually hang up pictures and put up curtains.  Today family and friends helped us move the heavy furniture.

So now here we are – officially Michigander or Michiganian or whatever!

 

 

Goldilock and the Three Homes

The past few months I have felt like Goldilocks.  You remember her.

Image result for free clipart of goldilocks and the three bears

Once upon a time there were three bears who lived in a house in the forest. There was a great big father bear, a middle-sized mother bear and a tiny baby bear.

One morning, their breakfast porridge was too hot to eat, so they decided to go for a walk in the forest. While they were out, a little girl called Goldilocks came through the trees and found their house. She knocked on the door and, as there was no answer, she pushed it open and went inside. 

Goldilocks went upstairs, where she found three beds. There was a great big bed, a middle-sized bed and a tiny little bed. By now she was feeling rather tired. so she climbed into the big bed and lay down. The big bed was very hard and far too big. Then she tried the middle-sized bed, but that was far too soft. so she climbed into the tiny little bed. It was neither too hard nor too soft. In fact, it felt just right, all cosy and warm. and in no tine at all Goldilocks fell fast asleep.

It was too big

We were living in a nine-room house wth a beautiful sun room that looked out on a hosta garden

As time passed I realized this home was too big.  Getting older I found it harder to keep everything clean and did not want to spend my last years cleaning house.  There was too much adventure still waiting for me.

It was too small

So we downsized and our next home we picked was less than half the size of the home we had.  At first it was nice not having too much to clean.  However, we soon realized it was too small.

downsizing 2

Not enough storage space.  Even after major downsizing we had, like most Americans, too much stuff.  And it was impossible to do any real entertaining as there was just not enough space for more than three or four people.

It is just right

just right

Next week we move into our new condo.  Bigger than the current house we rent, it has lots of storage and a great room where we can entertain friends.  But it is only five rooms so it will be much more manageable to keep clean.

The story of Goldilocks does not have a happy ending.

Just then, Goldilocks woke up and saw the three bears.  She screamed, “Help!”  And she jumped up and ran out of the room.  Goldilocks ran down the stairs, opened the door, and ran away into the forest.  And she never returned to the home of the three bears.

But I’m thinking mine story will.

condo

Stay tuned to hear how Goldilocks (I mean me) finds her new home.

 

 

 

Change is the Only Constant in Life

Sometime ago I wrote about my desire to have a forever home and the realization that I will not find that home until this life on earth is over.

You can check my story at:

Waiting for My “Forever Home”

Six months ago my husband and I moved to Michigan from Illinois.  We followed our daughter and her family to a small town called St Johns.  Our daughter had accepted the position as pastor of a church in the town and we chose to join them.  We said we would give it a year’s trial and if it did not work out for us, we could move back to Illinois where our son lives or to North Carolina where another daughter lives.  But it has proven already to be a great place to live so we have purchased a condo and will be moving next week to our new home.

According to the popular stats blog, FiveThirtyEight, the average American will move 11.4 times in their lives. This means we can assume 11 homes are lived in over the course of an American’s lives.   I clearly beat that average.  By the time I graduated from high school I had already lived in 12 different houses and in six different towns in Illinois.  With this move I will have lived in 30 different houses in four different states and in two different countries.

And moving around like that has meant my school years were also full of different schools – I was always the “new kid on the block.”

  • In six years of grade school I attended five different schools
  • In two years of junior high I attended three different schools
  • In four years of high school I attended two different schools
  • And for college – I attended three community college and three universities.

Sometimes I have felt jealous as I saw people who had lived in the same town all their life – some in the same house they grew up in.  It would be nice, I have thought, to live where you know everyone and have friends from grade school.

But, then I realize I must have gypsy blood because as I think about that – I can’t imagine how boring that must be.  To see the same sights year after year, to never know what is just over that hill or around that corner.

My life may have been a little chaotic at times, but it has never been boring.

Even when we travel we love to just get in our car headed in a general direction and stop whenever we see something that looks interesting.  While moving around and always be the new person means I may not have a multitude of friends wherever I am currently living, I imagine heaven will be great because I already will know so many people I have befriended over the years.

Wandering keeps me interested – and hopefully interesting.

“Not all who wander are lost.”  – J.R.R. Tolkien

“Adventure may hurt you but monotony will kill you.

“A ship in a harbor is safe, but it not what ships are built for.”  – John A Shedd

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference” – Robert Frost

So – hopefully this is my last move until the final one to my forever home.

But who knows?

As the Greek philosopher, Heraclitus said:

“change is the only constant in life.”  

Döstädning – Death Cleaning

When I wrote this post I was only thinking about downsizing to make life a little easier. I had no idea that it would really pay off when we moved several months later – not just to a new home, but to a new state. I recently read statistics compiled by The SpareFoot Storage Beat that were amazing: there are between 45,000 to 52,000 self-storage units in the USA – much more than there are McDonald’s or Starbucks stores. The annual revenue for the industry is $38 million. Almost 10% of households rent a self-storage unit. BecomingMinimalist.com shares that 65 pounds of clothing are thrown away annually by typical Americans. Having less is proving less stress for me!

Grandma's Ramblings

clutter

I have been “death cleaning” but did not realize it!

Over the years I have watched my friends fret as they anticipated turning 30, 40, 50 or 60.  I never understood why they got so up tight.  To me those milestones were just another birthday.

But this spring I turn 70 and that is a milestone I find hard to accept.

70 2

70 – I can no longer count myself in the middle age group.  I’m old!

Thinking about this milestone in my life I have found myself looking around at all my “stuff” accumulated over the years and suddenly it just seems like too much “stuff.”  I have had an irresistible urge to clean house – to declutter.

While I certainly expect to live many more years I have looked around and thought:

Why am I hanging on to stuff I no longer need, want or use?

Why leave all…

View original post 387 more words

The Call We Didn’t Want – Can’t Forget!

It has been four years since we got that call – but the memory is still fresh in our minds.

After that phone call I stopped blogging for several months.  But finally, I realized that is not what Keith would have wanted.  Today – we still remember not just that terrible phone call – but we recall the memories we have.

For my husband the memories are multiple.  Keith was his first born.  Named Paul Keith he was known to all but the family as Paul – but to us he was Keith.

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Paul’s oldest son, Paul Keith Lane with his sister, Loretta

I did not meet Keith until a few months after I married his father.  Keith was 24 at that time.   Paul’s daughter, Loretta, was very ill and in the hospital.  Paul had flown down immediately to be with her.  I waited until our son, Will, could get home from college so we could fly down together.  At the Dallas airport I asked them to page Paul Lane to meet us at the main terminal.  I was quite surprised when Keith walked up and said “I’m Paul Lane.”  What a way to meet your step-son.

But step-son is not a word I like when talking of Keith.  I came to love him as my own and I’ll never forget the day he asked if he could call me “Mom.”  Memories of all the times he came to visit and the close relationship we were able to build are mine to treasure forever..  He loved to cook and when he would visit he always made the best potato salad in the world.

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We had a red bud tree planted near his grave in his memory.

 

Here is what I wrote when I began blogging again.

—————————————————-

Unexpected, Unwanted Call

I last posted on my blog in April. While we were on vacation, we got that unwanted, unexpected phone call in the night. A police officer called to tell us that our son had been found dead in his apartment. While we knew he was not in good health (a disabled veteran) and would probably not live to be an old man, we still did not expect to be planning his funeral. As my husband sadly said, “No one should bury their own child.” Yet, we know that many do – some burying their children at a much younger age than our son.

I stopped blogging

At times of great grief, your world seems to come to a halt. My husband and I are great Scrabble nuts as I shared before in

Confessionns of a Scrabble Addict  (https://barblaneblog.com/2015/02/22/confessions-of-a-scrabble-addict/) .

But suddenly we no longer wanted to play. It was as if continuing with our favorite game was somehow to make his death seem unimportant. Every time I sat down to blog, I could not decide on a subject. Should I continue to write about the silly, every-day part of my life. How could I do that when I’m supposed to be grieving? Should I continue to write on more serious subjects. I just did not have the heart for that. So – I stopped blogging.

But the world does NOT stop turning. 

But, even if we would like it to, the world does not stop turning.  Life goes on – and that is a good thing.  While we will always miss and grieve the loss of our son, we are so blessed with other children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  We do no service to his memory to stop loving life.

Let the games begin – the blogging continue

So – tonight we are going to play a game of Scrabble and I am returning to my writing.

 

Not Your Average Pet Store – This is An Experience!

Spring break this year found my both my daughter and her husband out of town on their jobs leaving my husband and I to take care of – and entertain – our eight-year-old granddaughter.

What to do?

We played school with the animals.  My husband bought these animals at the local zoo one year when she was four years old.  From the very beginning she wanted Grandma to speak for each of the animals.  She would line them up and ask them questions and I would answer as if I was that particular animal.  As she got older I thought we would stop playing with them but the games have only changed.

Now we put them in groups according to whether they have colorful coats with spots or stripes or dull coats, whether they have fur or skin, whether they are a carnivore or not.

They have all been given names.  This week each of the animals had to write a report for school about how they spent their spring break.

  • Ellie Elephant went to gymnastics camp
  • Barbara Bear went with her family to the park
  • Win Warthog took a road trip to see a lighthouse
  • Hippy Hippo went to the zoo
  • Giraffe Boy spent a day at the mall
  • Charlie Cheetah went to Grandma and Papa’s house
  • Rhiny Rhino made some gitter slime
  • Goes Gorilla visited the Medieval Times in Chicago
  • Lexie Lion put together a hydraulic claw
  • Tom Tiger went to Taekwondo camp
  • Zoe Zebra had a date night with Mommy
  • Macey Moose made a trip to see her BFF

Then we did puzzles.  She is becoming pretty good at puzzles and we did a couple – one with 300 pieces and one with 500 pieces.  She loved the one with all the different dogs.

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Papa took her shopping and she got some “hot” bright yellow sunglasses because she insisted that her eyes were really hurting bad in the sunshine.

Being new to the area I did a search on the internet for places to take children and came up with this wonderful and unusual pet store.  This is not a pet store with lots of dogs and cats.  Rather, it is full of exotic pets I have never seen in a pet store.

From Eclectus a bird native to New Guinea, northeastern Australia, and the Maluku Islands to Caiques small, stocky parrots with very bright colors who can live as long as 40 years and everything in between they have it.

eclectus

Eclectus – beautiful bright green

There are rows and rows of exoctic fish.

And seahorses, shrimp, bearded dragons and much, much more.

 

They say “It’s not just a store, it’s an experience.”  They are right.  If you live near the Lansing, Michigan area you must check this store out.

 

When Will Daddy Stop Being Dead?

Yesterday it was 37 years since my first husband was killed in an accident.  He died when the car he was working on fell on top of him and crushed him.  My two young daughters came home from school and found him there.  Needless to say, it was quite a traumatic experience for them.

All of the events surrounding that day are forever entrenched in my mind.  But one memory that still haunts me occurred about six weeks after the funeral.

At the time of his death as I tried to comfort my daughters, my youngest daughter seemed not to really be upset or need any comforting.  As family and friends came in for the funeral she enjoyed playing with cousins and friends and appeared to have no sorrow for her father’s death.

At first I thought it was just shock but after the funeral was over and weeks began to pass she still shown no sign of any trauma or sorrow.

I began wondering what kind of daughter I was raising.

Finally, about six weeks later she came to me and asked a question I will never forget.

“Mommy, when will Daddy stop being dead and come home?”

Oh my!!!

It was then I realized what she had been thinking all this time.

A few months before his death he had injured his back and was in the hospital for almost two weeks.  At that time the hospital did not allow young children in the rooms so when I went to see him I would have them stand in the yard just outside his window.  He would come to the window and wave at them.

When he was discharged from the hospital we had a party!  The girls made a sign “Welcome home Daddy” and we hung it just over the door to the kitchen.  We had cake and ice cream and celebrated that Daddy was home with us once again.

At that moment, I realized my young daughter did not understand what “dead” meant.  She had apparently thought it was just another injury and that Daddy would be coming home again.

That moment was one of the hardest times of my life.

I sat her down and sadly had to tell her:

“Daddy is dead,  Dead means he will never come home again.”

I still remember her face!

Tears swelled up in her eyes and she fell into my arms and cried.  Clearly her heart was broken.

daughters

No one can measure the trauma and pain both my daughters experienced because of their father’s accidental death.  Or the pain I felt seeing them hurting and feeling so inadequate for the task of helping them in this difficult time.

But one thing I learned – and I trust they did too.

Although death – or sometimes divorce or abandonment by a father – can leave us fatherless, we still have a heavenly father who loves and cares for us.

In the months and years ahead I have both experienced that heavenly father’s protection and love for me but also seen His help to my daughters.

I do not pretend to know why my daughters lost their earthly father but I thank God that we have a heavenly father who cares and who helps us when we walk through that valley of the shadow of death – or any other difficult time.

And I praise God that He has given both my daughters a family of their own to love and to have their love.

I also praise God that as a Christian I believe although that little girl’s daddy could not come back home to her – some day she will join him in the new home God has made for them both.

What a great reunion!