Recent Scott-isms, Brief Death Thoughts and Why We Need Girlfriends

I love my husband. There is no one else on this earth that suits me better than the man currently sitting in the recliner, next to me, with his laptop, watching the Super Bowl. And if I failed to tell you about Scott-isms, I would be depriving you of some pretty funny stuff. Mind-numbing, sometimes mind-blowing stuff. I’m doing you a favor. But back off, ladies. He’s all mine.

Scott’s mind is in a perpetual state of troubleshooting. This behavior is probably normal for an IT Director who is in charge of protecting a pretty substantial network and keeping it functioning for all users. He troubleshoots in his head all day at work and then he troubleshoots at home. Or in the car. Or on a vacation. It doesn’t matter if there’s even an issue. He will troubleshoot even non-issues. For example, we were driving on a road past a high school baseball diamond. There were a few random cars in the parking lot. “Why are those cars there?” “I don’t know, Scott.” I mean, I just don’t know. Why can’t wiener dogs fly? Why can’t we eat rocks? Why can’t chickens sing? If I wanted to, I could spend the day questioning everything. But Scott. He is a different breed. He DOES question everything. The cars are in the lot because someone parked them there. And then they left. And they haven’t come back yet. And if I can offer a reasonable explanation, he will close that troubleshooting ticket in his head and move on to the next ticket. It can be exhausting. I can’t even imagine how exhausting it must be to live in that beautiful mind of his.

But with this “troubleshooting” mentality comes a level of seriousness that sometimes gives my need to experience life’s funny moments a real challenge. Example #2: Megs the Friend recently sent me a link to an obituary that I found funny. Well, you know. Obituary funny. Not knee-slapping funny. Not tears streaming down my face and stomach-cramping funny. It’s more like dark humor but she and I appreciate that so… the obit. Anyway, it starts out like this, “Matthew Charles Slay of Trinidad, CA, passed away last week following a brief and courageous battle with an oversized piece of steak.” It ended with this, “In lieu of flowers, please cut your food into bite-sized pieces and chew it thoroughly.” Now, all the info in between those two sentences was really pretty interesting and it seems like Matt would’ve been a good guy to know. But it made me laugh and I appreciated the writer of that obit because I’ve always wanted to write real and true to form obits about people. I’d write my own if I knew exactly when I was going to die but I don’t.

But here’s where the Scott-ism comes in…I read Scott the first and last line of the obituary and he just nods and says, “yep. It’s dangerous if you don’t chew. I used to cut up the kids’ hot dogs into tiny pieces because I didn’t want them to choke.”

Didn’t even crack a smile.

“Scott,” I say, “This is funny, how can you not even giggle a little at that? I mean, the guy died, choking on steak and they mention it in the obituary. Then they tell everyone to CHEW THIER FOOD IN LIEU OF FLOWERS!”

“Gotta chew,” he says. But then he looks at me and laughs because I’m just about fall out of my chair at this ridiculousness. So he gets it, but my theory is that he always makes sure he doesn’t respond to it right away just to get me all fired up. For the love of Pete, IT’S A FUNNY OBITUARY!

About that…I think I find this so amusing for two reasons. First, I admire someone that can make me laugh, especially about a topic that isn’t usually meant to be funny. But also, because my personal goal is to leave this world in humorous fashion. If I’m gotta die, I’m gonna die funny and I’m impressed with Matt and his exit, albeit it was a little early. I’m hoping that when I do go, the way in which it happened makes you all chuckle because life is just, well, so damn serious sometimes.

Now, off the death thing (I feel like I think about death a lot) and back to Scott-isms. Just after that crazy January snowfall we had, Scott and I were out for a drive once the roads were all clear. I noticed that the snow was laying on all the branches of trees in a thick layer, except for the small trees and bushes. On those smaller branches, the snow collected in ball-like forms. I made the following comment to Scott, “Look how the snow collected on the smaller branches- like snow balls. Like ornaments. Wait! They’re SNORNAMENTS!!” Then I laughed at myself. Scott gave me a little smirk.

A smirk.

I’m all like, “HEY! I just said SNORNAMENTS!” I added a little extra volume in case he didn’t hear me. He gave me a little giggle.

Fine.

SNORNAMENTS!

The following morning, during my weekly, Monday 7:15 AM phone call with Jules the Friend, I told her about snoraments and she laughed. Out loud. A for real LOL. But it’s not just me! Later that week, she texted me to tell me that while she was out and about, she noticed how the snow had stuck to a utility pole and she desperately wanted to tell me about the SNOTUM POLE!

This.

This, friends, is why women need girlfriends.

Death-Bed Meanderings

Samma Lamma Ding Dong returned home to us from his internship in Dallas on Wednesday night. On Thursday, the four of us and Zoë, John’s girlfriend, went out for dinner to celebrate my birthday early before Sam leaves us again for his second semester, junior year at Iowa State. I decided to continue the celebration of aging on Friday night by working on a sinus infection. I had peaks of feeling good on Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, but it’s now Monday and I can relate to Leslie Knope from Parks and Recreation when she says, “everything hurts and I’m dying.”

Maybe it’s not that bad.

But it feels like it.

I usually conjure up concerns for my own death every time I’m ill. It’s just something to pass the time.

If it’s really bad, I text Scott and tell him to send the angel of death and begin planning my funeral and oh, here’s a couple of details I’ve worked up in addition to the binder I have for you. Yes, there’s a binder. I mean, let’s be honest. I have three men- one husband, two sons. I can just picture it- I die and my corpse lays there in bed. All three of them are standing around me, looking at each other with great concern about the next step.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know, Dawg, never done this before.”

“Should we call someone?”

“Yo, who do you call for this, tho.”

“Should we move her?”

“Where? Where do we move her? Doesn’t someone have to come get her?”

“Yeah, but where do they take her?”

“Can they just bury her in what she’s wearing right now? We don’t have to dress her, right?”

“Wait. How’s Dad gonna eat?”

“I think he’s supposed to call that Alyssa lady who makes the meals. I saw her picture and number on the kitchen door.”

“Who’s gonna do Dad’s laundry?”

“That’s you, Dawg. You live in town. I’m headed back to Iowa State.”

So yeah! Of course I have a binder! Step by step instructions on who to call, what to do, where to dispose of me, what to tell people. I’m not an idiot. I love my boys, all three of them, but I’m a realist.

Upon said death bed, I usually text out instructions to friends… Julia gets my wardrobe but she has to finish any scrapbook projects left undone; Megan can have my Pyrex and anything fun from my kitchen.

But they all have to help Scott through life. Every time I tell him I want to teach him to cook or do laundry, he says, “Oh Deb, we both know I’m going before you.” But do we? We do not. I think it’s his “subtle” way of getting out of how to learn to do domestic stuff. He can get through the day and take care of the dogs (of course someone reading this will have to remind him that the dogs need yearly heartworm shots and occasional doses of flea and tick meds. All the meds in are in the “dog drawer” in the kitchen and are labeled with dog’s name, the type of med and the distribution schedule.) Beyond the the every day and dog stuff, he’s going to need to some help.

Recently, in one of our “what if” discussions, he said, “Can I hire someone to come in and just smell everything to make sure it’s clean?” Sam laughed. “Yeah, Dad, it’s called a cleaning person and she cleans stuff.” You have to understand that Scott has no sense of smell whatsoever. It’s not recent, it’s always been that way and it can pose some potentially problematic situations. I recently returned home from a weekend retreat and walked into our bedroom only to be met with an odor reminiscent of John’s football days when I would pick him and his buddies up from practice and drop all of them off while simultaneously hanging my head out the driver’s side window, gasping for fresh air.

Deb- “What is happening in here?????”

Scott- “Oh yeah, I didn’t know what to do with all my clothes. I walked 25 miles this weekend. I was going to put them in the washer but there’s something in there, so I hung them around the room to dry.”

It was in the 90’s all weekend. And while I know work is really stressful right now, and walking helps him think things through, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, TAKE WHATEVER IS IN THE WASHER OUT AND PUT EVERYTHING IN THERE AND CLOSE THE LID.” I threw sheets and clothes into the washer on hot with plenty of vinegar to kill whatever has been harboring there all weekend. Truth be told, if I had just given the command, I’m positive the clothes could’ve walked down the hallway themselves and jumped into the washer without help, like a mass suicide mission. This experience couldn’t have been pleasant for them either. I diffused some lemon oil in great proportions and deep cleaned the bedroom and master bath.

This is after one, solitary weekend. This is why I worry. This is why I prepare.

And now you understand the why behind my binder, my discussions about who we call for food, and my concerns about what will happen if I decided to check out.

So for all of you reading this, if I don’t recover from this sinus infection, which I’m certain is highly likely, please take note and check on my sweet husband. The boys are fine. They can cook and clean and do laundry.

And just to be sure, drop by and smell the house from time to time.

Just Flippin Try It

When I was a kid, my parents would take my brother and me on a vacation in the summer. These were not elaborate or extravagant trips by any means. In fact, they were always road trips and we always stayed in a “motel.” You know what I’m talking about, right? Not a Holiday Inn or a Ramada. No. A motel. A long ranch-style sleeping accommodation that advertised “cable TV” and “outdoor pool” on the sign in front. You pulled up to the “office” on the far side of the building and asked for a room. Usually the office had a rack of postcards with a photo of the motel on the front so you could send one out to a loved one back at home before you left the next morning, and they would be able to follow your travels based on the postcards you sent. (That was my favorite part of a motel- the postcards. I always sent them to my grandparents or friends and I’d keep one for a scrapbook or a journal.)

Every private room of the motel opened to the outside and you could park your car right in front of your door. The polyester bedding was an especially slippery material and donned such an obnoxious and colorful design, you wouldn’t know if it was dirty. As a kid though, we thought we were living the life of luxury when we got to stay in one of these. My parents were teachers so summertime was a break for all four of us and we made the most of it. Those trips were planned meticulously by my mom, who loved lists and maps. She would plot out the entire trip and it always included something educational. The Badlands and Mount Rushmore, Springfield, IL to see all the Lincoln sites, National Parks, State Parks, Wisconsin to see the old family cabin and take in some obscure museum. She was so good at that. She would pack all kinds of meats, cheeses, breads, goodies and fruit for our lunches and I can’t remember dinner, but if we went out I know it wasn’t over the top. But the thing I remember the most was breakfast. Mom and Dad had a knack for picking the best breakfast places, which they called “Mom & Pop Restaurants.” We would stay in a motel in some random town my mom found on a map and in the morning, we would get ready and set out and find a Mom and Pop place for breakfast. And I can promise you, in every one of those restaurants, in every summer, without fail, I ordered the French toast. Even at the ripe old age of 12, I was a food critic and I can still remember the best French toast I ever had because that restaurant was filthy. Apparently, the health department wasn’t a thing in the 80’s and if it was, these people were an undercover breakfast operation that was frying eggs off the grid and out of site of the local government. I even remember the look on my mom’s face when we sat down and all the men at the counter, who looked very large and very mean, stared at us for quite some time before turning around and going back to their biscuits and gravy. I didn’t care. I was hungry, so whatever. Suck rope, big, ugly dudes. This girl’s about ta smash on some French toast.

Fast forward to my life as an adult… I no longer eat French toast. It’s not that I don’t want to. I want to eat it every day. But as you get older your body starts to tell you that you need to take good care of yourself if you want to stick around. So here I am, eating non-French toast breakfasts, which I’m not crazy about. That is, until I recently had breakfast with Scott the Hubs at Flips in Bettendorf. Now, Scott the Hubs and I stopped going out to breakfast on Saturday mornings after our favorite little small-town joint closed their restaurant doors and now only serves prepared meals. You might remember that from an earlier blog. But one morning, I woke up hungry and it wasn’t going to get satisfied by a couple of egg bites from Starbucks.

The first time we went, we drove out to Competition Drive by TBK in Bettendorf. It hadn’t been open for long but they already had at least two locations in the Quad Cities (Moline and Davenport) so we figured they must be on to something. And they are. “Creative”- that’s the first word I would use to describe them. Of course they have all the basics, right? So if you’re not the kind of person who wants to get all bougie with breakfast, you can still eat here and leave completely satisfied.

My first Flips breakfast was the Urban County Eggs Benedict- flank steak, Gruyere cheese, chipotle hollandaise, served on a garlic cheddar biscuit. If I had eaten this meal at home, I would have licked my plate. I do that at home. Only at home. And only in the presence of my husband and maybe my two adult boys. I have not licked my plate in front of my step-mom yet. I don’t want her to leave my dad because I have no manners in the confines of my own personal space.

I can’t remember what Scott the Hubs had. I don’t think I even looked at him when our meal came to the table and I took my first bite. I don’t remember having a conversation during that meal. I just know that was the best eggs benny I have ever had.

A few weeks later, we decided to try the newly opened Flips, just down the street from us on Tanglefoot Lane in Bettendorf. That’s two Flips in Bettendorf, friends. Two. These people know how to do breakfast. I’m sure they know how to do lunch too, but right now I can only focus on breakfast because I have not found a breakfast that I love this much in a long time.

Now, I could be wrong about this but I think the menus between the two places are slightly different, which I find intriguing. Here’s why…I don’t remember seeing the Urban County Eggs Benedict on the Tanglefoot Lane menu and at first, I was slightly disappointed. But then… I spotted a savory crepe on the menu- it was a meat, cheese and egg crepe and it was delightful. I had bacon, of course, because, well… bacon. That, friends, was an outstanding little combination of flavors. You might be thinking, ‘what’s the big deal about bacon eggs and cheese?’ and normally I would agree. Big whoop. But this bacon, egg and cheese is wrapped up all cozy-like into an ever-so-slightly sweet and fluffy blanket of crepe goodness. I felt like I was lifted gently out of my seat and serenely floating on a cloud while I ate it. Also, I was not expecting three crepes, but was pleasantly surprised that I could have round two for breakfast the next day.

Scott the Hubs decided to tempt his fate and order the French toast, right in front of me, and then proceeded to eat it with butter and syrup. He didn’t even look at me while he ate, so I know he knows it was wrong. I made sure he paid for breakfast to make up for his thoughtless transgressions, but he was, at least, kind enough to offer me a piece that had two full bites, just so I could try it, a gesture for which I was quite grateful. And let me tell you… this french toast beats the eggs out of any other I have had in my fifty years on this earth. Crispy on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside. Not soggy in the least bit. And their syrup was maple-ly perfection.

I miss those French toast days, but I miss a lot of things that disappeared as I grew older. Gone are the postcards from motels and gone are a lot of the motels themselves. The picnic lunches Mom packed are just a memory and the maps she used have been repurposed in some of my travel scrapbook pages. But breakfast is still a thing and if you want a creative option, provided with excellent service and comfortable and homey decor, flippin get to one of their four locations and try Flips.

https://flipspancakehouseqc.com/

You’re in Luk Luk

Like Thai food? Well friends, you’re in Luk Luk. Meet TukTuk Thai BBQ in Moline. I know exactly what attracted me to this fairly new eatery. Was it the word Thai? Generally, as a rule, I will choose Thai almost over any other genre of food in most cases. But if I’m being honest here, while the word “Thai” caught my attention, it was really the leather jacket-wearing, bandana-sporting chicken, driving the Tuk Tuk Taxi on the website. That’s what did it and I’m glad he beckoned me into this fabulous little find because their food is damn tasty, friends.

My first experience with Tuk Tuk was with Megs the Friend. Megs the Friend and I typically lunch at a local Mexican joint where we feast on chips and salsa like the chips and salsa factories are closing forever the next day. Aside from chips and salsa, the main reason we get together is to dish about what’s new in our lives and tell stories about all the people who have driven us nuts since our last lunch where we talked about all the people that drove us nuts. This time, however, after coming across the Tuk Tuk logo and being intrigued by one badass member of the poultry family, I asked her if we could venture out and try something new. She agreed and off we went.

When we got there, we were greeted by a vibrant and friendly hostess, affectionately known as Thai Thai. She welcomed us right in and got busy making us comfortable. I asked her for some recommendations and then ordered the Thai Wontons to kick the meal off. Crispy, golden brown on the outside; warm, curried potato and caramelized onion on the inside. If I actually dropped dead at that table after a bite of that appetizer, I’d leave this world a happy girl because I would have LIVED, friends. I don’t even recall using the dipping sauce- the flavor was so real- sauce would’ve removed the authenticity of it. I think some sauces were invented so Americans would eat stuff. Cheese was made for broccoli. Ketchup was made for fries. Sweet & Sour was made for Asian appetizers. This particular sweet and sour sauce is not your typical sauce- it’s got stuff in it and I have no idea what it is, but it makes it very good. So don’t get me wrong, the sauce is fantastic, but the appetizers don’t need it.

Thai Wontons

Megs the Friend and I were pretty invested in this place at this point. I had the Kang-Karee- a curry with potatoes and carrots in coconut milk. I added chicken because I eat very few meals without meat. This dish is the definition of comfort food. It’s the kind of stew-like meal I’d like to eat curled up on my couch on a rainy day. Megs the Friend agreed- this place is worth adding to the “regular restaurant” menu.

I’ve ordered take-out a few times since that visit and have tried new things each time. Gra Pow Gai Sup- a mix of ground chicken, vegetables, chili and basil- which was the perfect balance of spicy and sweet. Not over-the-top spicy, though. It’s comfortable spicy. The kind of spicy where you can still appreciate all the complex flavors but enjoy a little kick. I’ve also had Pad Ka Tiam- a cabbage, broccoli and carrot dish with black pepper and roasted garlic sauce. I added chicken to that too. Also excellent.

But recently, Scott the Hubs and I stopped by on a Saturday night and were greeted with vigor by Thai Thai, who is, by far, one of my favorite restaurant personalities. She is the kindest and most welcoming host and makes you feel like her favorite customer every time she sees you. There is just something special about feeling appreciated and loved by the host at a restaurant.  I feel like I could have the worst day, but a trip to TukTuk could make the world disappear for a little while and give me the strength to face it again when it’s time to leave.

Scott and I had a couple of beers- mine was Chang, a Thai beer that’s got a kind of intense flavor, for a beer, in my opinion. It has a tiny, slight bitter taste to it, but not in an offensive way. It’s more like a compliment. Or like a period at the end of a sentence.

We, of course, had the Thai Wontons and we also had an order of the Thai Rolls. Both were crispy on the outside, full of flavor on the inside. Scott the Hubs liked the lettuce and carrot garnishes so much, he drizzled the sauce I didn’t eat on it and made a side salad. Such a resourceful hottie I have on my arm…

Thai Wontons and Thai Rolls

Scott the Hubs ordered the Pad Ka Tiam and I had the Prik Pow Chili Cashew- all excellent choices. And let me just say this about the presentation…the food is served up in the most beautiful fashion. The dishes are colorful and ornate and food itself is such a blend of beautiful greens, reds and oranges- it’s a piece of art by the time it makes its way to the table. There is talent in this- to satisfy the heart and stomach through eyesight before the food even touches your lips.

Prik Pow Chili Cashew

And the service… I wouldn’t call this fast food, so if you’re in a rush, find a drive-thru. These kinds of meals take worthwhile time and the staff does an outstanding job of keeping up with everyone, giving us time to enjoy our meals without feeling rushed. This is all good, because you’re going to want time to savor every bite.

Sidenote: I had to do a little research on the name while Scott the Hubs and I were waiting for our food. In case you were unaware, a Tuk Tuk is a three-wheeled, motorized vehicle that you will often see on the streets of Thailand. It’s small, it’s versatile and very popular over there. Well. Over there and here in Moline, by a licensed, taxi-driving chicken.

That’s one badass chicken.

So hop on your Harley, climb into your SUV, grab your pogo stick or hail a Tuk Tuk Taxi and get over there to try some of the best Thai food the Quad Cities has to offer. You’ll know you’re in the right place when you see a massive chicken in the window, giving you the thumbs up.

I’m a Big Fan

For the last six and a half years that I’ve worked as a Realtor, I’ve spent many a lunch hour at a cozy sports bar on Grant Street in Bettendorf called Sports Fans. Sports Fans is the quintessential neighborhood bar and grill. Walk in on any given day or night and you’ll see familiar faces that have been patronizing this establishment for years. Sports Fans has, and I know this will shock you, sports paraphernalia all over the walls and TVs everywhere, where you can catch tennis, golf, as well as baseball, football or basketball games- college and pro. In fact, the John Deere Classic was on while I was there last week. And here’s something I also noticed recently, they even have updated sports items on the walls. For example, above the table where I sat was a signed tennis ball, racket and jersey from Madison Keys, a pro tennis player from Rock Island, Illinois, just across the river from here. I like Babe Ruth and all, but I never watched him play live, so while I appreciate the old stuff, it’s nice to see they honor our local celebs. When my kids were little, they thought I was ancient and one day Sam asked me, “hey, Mom, what was it like to watch Babe Ruth play baseball?” Good grief, I was born in 1972, not 1922.

Sports Fans also has the world’s best popcorn adorned with plenty of salt (yeah, salt- which I love so much- I ain’t afraid of no goiter), served at your table while you wait, and…CHEAP BEER. I love cheap beer and here’s my favorite part. I happen to be a Miller High Life fan, because, you know, it’s the Champagne of Beers and I’m fancy like that. Miller High Life is not a beer you find very often in a local bar and grill and while I’ll drink a local brew occasionally- like a Front Street Brewery Cherry Bomb Blonde- the High Life is always my choice beer if I can find it. When I realized it was readily available in my first visit to Sports Fans, I became a fan of this small-town bar & grill. That was even before I tried the food.

Sports Fans’ menu is pretty extensive. I always feel like there’s something for everyone there. They have pizzas, which are outstanding. We’ve ordered large orders of their pizza for work events and they always do a fabulous job of putting that together. They have salads, a wide variety of burgers and sandwiches, and entrees like tacos and chicken strips, of course. It’s a restaurant rule. When you’re opening a restaurant in the Midwest and filling out the paperwork with the local government, there’s a section that requires you to provide the public with chicken strips. You have full reign over the kind of sauce you serve with them, but serving the strips is a legal requirement. Apparently.

The first time I went there, I ordered the Hollywood Burger- American cheese, lettuce, tomato and mayo. Always happy to see mayo on a burger. It was excellent- juicy and not dried out at all, a tiny bit of pink in the center, just like the cow would’ve wanted it.

The next time I went, however, I saw something on the menu that sounded good and in all the trips I have made since, I have never deviated from this item- the Chicken Monterey Deluxe Sandwich. I have no idea what makes their grilled chicken filet so juicy and tasty. I can’t recreate it at home like I can do with most things. And I can tell you, in all honesty, if they told me their secret ingredient was that they sneeze on it before they grill it, I would still order it. It is that good. Swiss Cheese, Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato, Mayo. I always add onion to that lovely sandwich repertoire. It is a freaking party in my mouth and I’m sorry I can’t provide you with any additional entrée advice because I will only get the Chicken Monterey Deluxe. Forever and ever.

(Sorry- there’s a fair amount of pepper on my sammich right there -I do love a good dose of pepper), but if you look closely, you can see that perfectly marinated and grilled chickie breast. I add a side of mayo even though mayo comes on it because mayo is one of my four food groups (the other three are butter, steak and cheese). I’m pretty impressed with myself that I remembered to take a photo before devouring it, which I forgot to do at yesterday’s lunch.

A word about a couple of other items on the menu- their fries. First of all, I am not a huge lover of French fries- meh. I can take them or leave them.

But these fries.

Sports Fans’ fries are crinkle cut and I don’t know if they are smuggling in some kind of grease that we used back in the 80s that made everything taste so amazing and was eventually banned by the government, but those fries are the best fries in the world. You may not understand this and if you’re younger and you were born after the 90s, you’ve probably never experienced it, but for you older folks, like myself, back in the day before they took good grease away, you would order fries and sometimes you’d get a fry that was almost transparent, like it had no filling, just a crispy golden outside of a shell that would literally melt in your mouth. I hope someone knows what I’m talking about here. And if you do and if you miss that, you must try an order of Sports Fans crinkle fries. I pull all those little flavor sensations out first and then I eat a couple more fries and call it good. I miss Trans-fats so much.

The appetizers- the Toasted Onion Green Beans are very good, and they come with a Southwest dipping sauce, but the appetizer that blows my socks right off my feet are the Golden Sweet Corn Nuggets. They are served with Ranch dipping sauce (another requirement when opening a Midwestern restaurant; right under the paragraph that states you will serve chicken strips is an additional paragraph, with required signature, that you will serve ranch dressing). I don’t like to dip them in anything and ruin those tasty nugs with sauce, but I have heard that Sports Fans makes the best ranch dressing so a lot of people will disagree with me on eating them naked. (Naked corn nuggets. I don’t know about you but I just got a little turned on.) Sorry, back on track. I don’t order them often- only if I deserve a treat- but when I have them, they make the world seem a little brighter and a little more manageable. Last week I deserved a treat, so…. corn nugs.

Mmmmmmmm. Crunchy on the outside, all gooey and corny on the inside.

Make your way down to Grant Street in Bettendorf and check them out. I believe they are pretty packed when the Iowa Hawkeyes or the Chicago Cubs play and since I am NOT a fan of either team, I avoid the bar at all costs during those games, but if your thing is crowded bars with like-minded sports fans, you might enjoy it on one of those days.

Happy eating friends!

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

July 5 of 2012, I was sitting in my living room, watching the news when a story emerged that there had been a home explosion and two bodies were discovered inside. The home was in my hometown of Aledo, Illinois. It didn’t take long for word to get out that one of those bodies belonged to my childhood friend, Patti. Patti had filed an order of protection against her ex-boyfriend and within days of that filing, he went to her home, shot her, poured gasoline on her and in the house, set it on fire and killed himself. This was the violent end to a frightening relationship that left her rightfully fearing for her life. The order of protection that she filled out in her own words was disturbing, and although it was filed in the courthouse, the police were unable to locate her ex, so Patti didn’t go back to her home for several days, fearing what would happen if she ran into him. On July 5th, she went back to her home to grab some clothing, where her ex found her and killed her. That evening, I wrote a piece about Patti- it was a collection of memories and experiences that still warm my heart, even if they are tainted with sadness. So here’s that piece- it’s important to share it because let’s face it, a piece of paper isn’t going to save anyone’s life. If you know someone who needs help, do everything they will allow you to do to help them find safety.

July 5, 2012 ~ Just north of Aledo, Illinois, on Route 94, lies a small community by the name of Hamlet.  It was there that I moved when I was three and lived for several years.  I lived a pretty simple life out among the cornfields, the country church and the farms; with no kids to play with, I had to find things to do by myself.  Days before I began kindergarten at Apollo Elementary in Aledo, I had an accident that resulted in a trip to the ER and a huge mass of stitches on the left side of my mouth, leaving my cheek swollen.  This was not exactly what I had envisioned for my first day of school.  The accident pretty much ruined any chances of my “blending in”. 

On that dreadful first day, I was sitting alone in the kindergarten classroom in a corner, putting together a puzzle. A small voice asked if she could help me.  I looked up and said yes to the little freckled girl with the crooked bangs and the jack-o-lantern smile. It was there that Patti Lindquist became my very first grade school friend. 

It’s funny.  I can’t remember what I did yesterday.  I can’t remember birthdays.  I don’t know when I’m due for an oil change.  I sometimes forget how old I am.  I forget the details of stories that people tell me moments after our conversation.  But I can relive flashes of my childhood like they happened this morning and a lot of those moments included Patti. 

Patti and I became friends instantly.  In fact, we spent the first five years of our school existence as inseparable.  Furthermore, we spent those years giggling.  I don’t know what we giggled about.  I can’t imagine now, in my almost 40 year old, cynical, jaded mind what could have possibly been so damn funny.

In kindergarten, we were often separated and placed in different corners of the room. Sometimes, we were removed from the classroom and placed in the hallway on opposite sides of the milk cooler.  After the teacher left (and this should come as no surprise- I can’t remember her name, other than it started with an H), one of us would move to the opposite side of the cooler to be with the other so we could giggle more. If Mr. Larson, the principal, would walk by, we would scoot to the other side of the cooler so when he walked back the other way, he wouldn’t know we had been placed out there because we were misbehaving.  Once, during one of our many “sit by the cooler” sessions, Miss H came out to check on us and we were busted for sitting there together.  She grabbed each of us by the arm and told us we were going to the office.  I apparently had no intention of doing so, and my instinct was to kick her. To this day, I have no idea why she let go of both of us and left us in the hallway and returned to the classroom.  If I had to guess, based on my own experience with small children, it may have been to avoid the anger that results in beating someone.  Maybe it was because she decided her classroom was more manageable with us not in it.  Or perhaps, maybe she just gave up out of total exhaustion.  Regardless, she did not return to teach again the following year.  In fact, I’m not even sure she made it through our entire kindergarten year before leaving.   

In the first grade, Mrs. Talkin tried every seating arrangement possible to keep us from giggling.  We sat in opposite corners, opposite sides of the room in every direction, and we even sat with our backs to each other once.  None of it worked.  We giggled throughout the entire first grade.  After that year, Mrs. Talkin retired.  And after that year, Patti and I never shared a classroom again.

Patti and I with Mrs. Talkin at a school festival where Mrs. Talkin was a “fortune teller”.

My parents loved Patti.  They would take me to her house to play or she would come to ours.  We would ride our bikes to a small cemetery west of Hamlet and lay out in the grass and have picnic lunches and read the headstones.  The trip to and from the cemetery was always a tricky one.  We had to pass a farm on the way there that had a dog with two different colored eyes.  We named him “One-Eye.” One Eye was a mean dog. He chased cars, trucks, combines, whatever- when they passed his house, so I’m sure two little nine-year-olds looked pretty tasty in comparison.  We had to pedal really hard before getting to One-Eye’s house, to get up enough speed to get past it without being caught.  All this while maintaining control on the gravel road.  Was it scary? Yes. Were we exhausted?  Yes.  Did we giggle? Oh yes.  At the cemetery, we would jump off our bikes and fall into a heap of laughter at the close call. 

Since we loved our bike rides so much, my parents bought each of us these awesome little FM radios that could hook onto the handlebars.  We rode all over the countryside listening and singing along to songs like Juice Newton’s Queen of Hearts.    

Patti’s farm was one of my favorite places to be.  First of all, Patti’s dad was like Santa Claus. Seriously. He was just a jolly, happy guy.  He was always interested in what we were doing and he loved our stories.  And he didn’t get mad when Patti and I made a mess in the kitchen making a cake or brownies.  (We once made the batter for a chocolate cake but it never made it to the oven.  We ate the entire bowl of batter.  Then we lay around on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon because we felt so sick.)

Patti and I always found mischief on the farm.  We were across the road from the house, standing on a fence, watching a bull in a field once when I asked Patti if bulls really charge when they get mad.  “I dunno,” she said, “let’s find out.”  We climbed to the other side of the fence and went closer to the bull.  We tried waving at it, running away from it, jumping up and down, but he was clearly not interested.  Then Patti did what comes natural to any kid- she picked up a dirt clod and looked at me.  I shrugged my shoulders and I picked one up also.  We threw them at the bull and hit him several times.  At this point, I can honestly tell you that, yes, bulls most certainly do charge when they get angry.  If I had run in my high school track career like I had run that day, I would have gone to State all four years. Never have I run or climbed a fence as fast as I did in that field. We ran all the way back to the house, crashed through the back door and fell on the kitchen floor gasping for breath, holding our legs made of jelly, and laughing so hard we were crying. 

While I still lived in Hamlet, Patti and I joined the Hamlet Handy Helpers 4-H Club.  My mom helped Patti out with her projects when she could.  I’m sure this was a challenge for my mom because alone, I was an intense child. With Patti, I was intense and giggly. Top it all off with Patti’s similar personality, and I’m shocked my mom wasn’t put in the nut house. But Mom had a lot of patience with both of us and she and my dad always treated Patti like she was part of the family.

My sophomore year in high school, I attended State Police Youth Camp for a week in Springfield. And who do you think was at my side that entire week?  You got it.  Patti had no desire to go into law enforcement that I know of, and I can’t honestly tell you why she agreed to go with me.  But whatever the reason, I was glad she was there. Being away from home was not easy for me, but having her there made me feel less lonely.

I remember my mom taking us to an REO Speedwagon concert at the Illinois State Fair one year.  After the concert, we got lost trying to find the hotel; and I have to give my mom credit for keeping her cool, because Patti and I giggled the entire time my mom was driving around looking for the right place.  (At this point, we were in high school and we still giggled all the time.) We did stop giggling, however, after recognizing that my mom was experiencing a brief moment of insanity and frustration.  Mom decided to stop and ask directions at a gas station, during which Patti and I decided we better pull ourselves together because Mom was getting pretty pissed. Unfortunately for Mom, the gas station attendant didn’t speak much English and when she returned to the car with no more direction than when she went into the gas station, Patti and I burst out laughing so hard that even my mom couldn’t help herself and the three of us sat in the parking lot trying to regain composure before venturing back out onto the interstate.

Over time we graduated and went our separate ways. I didn’t see Patti much when I was in college. We were, at that point, living very different lives. After I graduated college in 1994, I returned home before finding a job and moving. It was then that Patti showed up one day with her daughter, Brittany, asking me to go to the park with them. Patti’s daughter was just a little one at the time and we took her to the baby swings and caught up on all that had happened since we left high school. Patti loved that baby fiercely. She wanted the best for her daughter and she was struggling to figure out how to get there. But if there was one thing I knew nothing about at the time, it was motherhood. She was reaching out to me and she was searching, searching, searching…  I wanted to help her somehow, but in the end, I just hoped that just being there to listen to her was enough. 

About fourteen years later, we caught up again, this time on Facebook. I am so grateful for that opportunity. In the last couple of years, I’ve read about her life, her girls, her struggles and her joys. We messaged back and forth sometimes and caught up on all that was new, sharing new stories about our lives and our kids. It was a joy to be back in her sphere again.

If I could describe Patti in one word, it would be “intense”.  Patti never did anything half-way.  She worked intensely, she gave intensely, she loved intensely.  I feel privileged that I had the opportunity to know her and be a part of her existence here on Earth, if only for a short while.  Patti brought a lot of laughter to my life.  Not a trip to Aledo on Route 94 goes by that I don’t drive through Hamlet or past the gravel road to the Lindquist house and think of the memories she and I created. 

Godspeed, my old friend.  May your new life beyond be filled with the intense love and laughter you shared with so many.   

Things I Saw While I Was Out and the Lessons I Learned from Them

I’m a pretty observant gal. I spent several years working with juvenile delinquents after I graduated college. Nothing exciting- it was like glorified babysitting of teenagers in handcuffs and filthy mouths with an occasional fight to brighten things up a bit. I’ve always been observant, but it was in that capacity where I honed my ability to always be aware of what’s going on around me. The habit remains years later, so when I’m out and about in my car or in public, I often see the things that most people never notice. It’s usually in seeing those little life events unfold in front of me that I find lessons about life. I always make little notes about the things I see- I usually keep them as a list on my phone and recently I was thinking that maybe you might find them interesting as well…

Once I was driving to the office and got stopped behind an accident. It wasn’t anything serious from what I could tell- it was an accident between a teenager on her way to school and someone else I didn’t see. While I was waiting for the light to turn I sat watching the events unfold in front of me. The girl was talking to a police officer when her mom pulled up in the nearby parking lot. Mom quickly walked toward her daughter and as the girl saw her mom coming toward her, she broke into a full cry. Mom quickly wrapped her into a big hug and rocked her back and forth, running her hand through her daughter’s hair. The girl’s face was buried in her mom’s shoulder, and I’m sure Mom was telling her, “it’s ok, it’s just a car, you’re ok and that’s all that counts.” I broke out in a full cry myself, watching from my car.

The lesson? What great power we have to make or break a moment or an individual, to be able to boost confidence or tear someone down, to be able to offer comfort or instill fear. And with that power, you know it, comes great responsibility. Choose wisely.

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Last week I was driving through the streets of Moline. If you’re not from the Quad Cities, here’s the thing… there are a lot of wooded areas and hills intertwined among the city streets. And I don’t know if it’s relevant that this is the home of John Deere, but there are a lot of deer in these here parts. In fact, I see more deer in town than I ever see in the country. So one day last week I was driving on a well-traveled street and I noticed a mama deer and fairly new fawn, with sweet, little, white spots on its back, attempting to cross this busy road. Baby Deer was sticking very close to Mama and not moving any further than her back leg. I stopped quite a way back to give her plenty of space, but so did the oncoming car, which kind of surprised me, because you know, people are usually distracted. Mama and baby walked out into the middle of the road and then she must’ve suddenly realized she was surrounded by potential danger. She stopped and stood still for a little while, re-assessed the situation and then must’ve felt safe enough to proceed. They finished the journey to the other side and headed to the wooded area nearby. By this time, there was a good-sized line behind me and the car opposite me.

Where’s the lesson in that? Patience. It was a delightful thing to watch- this careful mama, trying to protect her little one, while all of us, without honking and frustration, just waited until she felt safe before we moved. Slow down. There’s more going on in the world than whatever you’re up to at that moment.

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Another day, I was crossing over Duck Creek and witnessed an old man walking across the bridge with a little boy, skipping alongside him. Both were carrying fishing poles and the man had a small tackle box. An old man, sharing his time and talent and ultimately, love, with this little man, who was obviously jubilant about this outing.

Spend time with the ones you love– they can be gone in the blink of an eye. Take a break from work and tech and enjoy what the earth has to offer.

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I was at Hy-Vee over the weekend and a huge SUV had just pulled in on my driver’s side, so I waited with my bag of groceries until everyone got out before I headed to my driver’s door. The teenager in the backseat carefully opened his door but when he tried to get out, the door got away from him and smacked my driver’s sideview mirror. He cringed in the saddest way and looked at me like a wounded animal. “I’m so sorry. I am really sorry,” he said. I just smiled and said, “don’t worry about it. Really”. He apologized again and just then his dad got out of the SUV and began to apologize profusely, but I just laughed and said, “it’s a car. No one’s hurt.” 

I thought back to a couple of years ago in the same parking lot when I was putting my groceries in my car and the old man next to me got out, slammed his door, got in my face and yelled at me for hitting his car with my door. He had a white SUV and my car is black. There was literally NO mark on his car, but he threw a fit. He spat while he yelled in my face and then he ripped off his glasses to get a better look at his car and the supposed “dent” I left.  There was nothing. But I left that parking lot in tears.

Perspective. In the grand scheme of things, this kid did his best to not hit my car and accidents happen. It’s just a thing. I didn’t lose a limb. Accidents happen to all of us. Give some grace, be kind.

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Last Sunday, Scott and I were sitting in our spot in church, waiting for Mass to start. A woman who sits several rows in front of us arrived- she’s very sweet and is always happy to see us. She’s just the kind of person you know takes good care of others. She usually sits with her daughter and grandson. A few minutes later, her daughter arrived and when she got to the pew where her mom was, her mom gave her a big smile and stood up to let her in. As her daughter was walking past her, Mom placed her hand on the side of her daughter’s face and kissed her on the cheek. Her daughter smiled and patted Mom’s arm and sat down. I began to cry right then and there (so glad I sit in the last pew). What I wouldn’t give to have my mom alive and be happy to see me when I walk into a room and kiss me hello.

Be grateful– appreciate the time you have with the ones you love while they are still on this earth. Appreciate your many blessings. Because whether or not you realize and regardless of how crappy your life might seem at times, your life is abundant with blessings.

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I was sitting at a stop sign one morning and there was a little boy in front of his house. He was throwing a wiffle ball up and hitting it with a bat. But the best part of this scene was that after he hit the ball, he ran around the yard in a circle, like he was running the bases. When he got to “home plate”, he jumped on it with two feet and cheered for his little self, arms up in the air, jumping up and down. It made me laugh and the lesson there is this- Keep it simple. Life doesn’t have to be complicated to be fun. Teach your kids the value in being creative, having an imagination and being able to produce their own entertainment, even when they’re alone.

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I went to work early one day a couple weeks ago- like 6:30 AM. I passed a little boy on a bike. He was grade school age and looked like he might be coming back from an overnight stay somewhere. Both hands were on the bike handles but between one of his hands and the handlebar was the paw of a brown teddy bear.  Cling to and hold close the things that offer comfort and security.

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Today, again in the car, (hey, I’m a Realtor. I drive a lot), I was driving down Crow Creek. There was a little guy, probably 5, on a tiny two-wheel bike. He was running from a garden, toward his bike, which was parked on a sidewalk, with a bunch of flowers in his hand. I have no idea if that’s his family’s garden or not, but I’m guessing it isn’t. Regardless, I hope that the recipient of those flowers made a huge deal about how beautiful those flowers are and how thoughtful that little boy is. And I hope whoever planted that garden didn’t get upset at this little guy who just wanted to make someone’s day.

Be grateful for the little things because those are the things you’ll miss the most when that little boy is all grown up, has muscles and drives a fire truck or is living four states away and working full time. It’s good for kids to learn to give of themselves and when they do, especially without encouragement, make a big deal out of it.

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I was driving on that same road a while back and there was a dead squirrel on the shoulder. Next to him were two other squirrels who were very much alive and seemingly very distraught about their little friend. In my head, I conjured up a story that the three of them were chasing each other around the nearby yards and up and down trees and then this little guy ran out into the road and got squashed. I imagine his two little friends cried out, “NO!” as they watched him meet his demise and then ran to him in hopes they could save him, only to be deflated that their playful, furry friend had met his maker.

Later that day though, as I was coming back the other direction, instead of one dead squirrel, there were three. I am not kidding. 

The lesson? Sometimes bad things happen, but don’t be a dumbass and stand around on a busy road, thinking about it.

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It’s been a while since this happened but it has stuck with me for years, which is why I saved it for last. I was sitting in the Notre Dame campus Basilica before Mass started. We were there about an hour early because it gets packed on a Saturday night. There was a college student in one of the pews up toward the altar. His backpack was in the pew next to him, but what has stayed with me is how he was positioned. He was kneeling on the kneeler, but his body from the chest up was slumped over the back of the pew in front of him. One arm was hanging down in front on the seat and his head was resting on the elbow of his other arm. He was either fast asleep or praying hard, but whatever the case, I watched him for a long time, thinking about all the pressures he must be under and that life must’ve worn him out. I was just so happy that he found a place where he could lay down his heavy burdens and find solace. And isn’t that so important? When life gets hard, you need a place to recuperate and recharge. Wherever that is for you, visit that place often and make a connection with something that keeps you grounded. Life is heavy. We have lots of responsibilities, fears, worries and expectations. When it gets to be too much, you have to hand it off to something greater than yourself. I hope you have a place like that. But most of all, I wish for you the ability to always take in small moments that surround you, truly see their beauty and learn great lessons from them.

For What It’s Worth

Let’s shift gears for a moment, shall we? Let’s talk real estate. Stop! Wait! Before you close this page out because you think it doesn’t apply to you, hear me out. Be patient. I’ll try to throw some funny stuff in here to keep you hooked, but this is an important topic for pretty much everyone and here’s why…

If you’re renting, it’s good to know a little about home prices and what to expect if you’re looking for a new place to live. It can help you evaluate whether you should stay where you are or purchase a home. If you already own a home and have absolutely no intention of selling it, you should still know what your home is worth- it’s a part of your financial portfolio and how do you really know what your assets are worth if you don’t have them evaluated from time to time? (Geez. Listen to me talking about finances and investments. If 20-year-old me could hear me, she would say, “who even is that?”)

Lastly, if you’ve considered the idea of upgrading, downsizing, need a change of view or need to get out of dodge completely for some reason, you need to know what the market value of your home is before you list it. So, bear with me, Readers! You might learn something here!

This is the most important thing I will say about what your home is worth. Are you ready? Your home is worth what someone will pay for it. That’s it. Bottom line.

When my grandfather was alive, that man saved everything. His house was a collection of some pretty unique items. That’s about the nicest way I can put that. When I was kid, his house and his flower shop were magical places, filled with things that came from all over the world and some items that came from some dude that sold items out of a run-down van. As I grew older, I would sometimes shake my head at the things we found in his house. I specifically remember one item- it was a two-foot high glass clown statue. The clown was wearing a teal jacket and had an orange and teal hat. That thing fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. One day he was telling me how valuable all his things were and I was doing a pretty good job of keeping myself intact, but when he brought that item to my attention and said it was a very valuable collectable, I lost it. I started laughing. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I can still see the look on his face- he got intensely serious and said, “it is!” I wanted so badly to respond with “maybe it’s an item that people collect. Maybe you paid a lot for it. But guess what… that thing right there is worth what someone will pay you for it and not a penny more and good luck finding that guy.” But I didn’t. I kept my mouth shut and just said, “Ok, Grandpa.” I added a “whatever” in my head but if I had said it out loud, I would’ve regretted it in a hot second.

That right there is the truth about anything. You can produce the most beautiful clothing, the most high-quality furniture and the most elaborate homes. But if we all agreed on value, there wouldn’t be clearance sales in every store in America or price drops on properties in even the best markets.

When someone asks me what the value of their home is, I do some research and here’s how it’s done… I look at various factors- age, location, style, condition, size. I once was helping a young couple purchase a home and they wanted to see a FSBO. I couldn’t figure out how the sellers came to the price where it was listed, so I asked them. Their reply was this- “the house across the street is for sale at this price, so we thought that’s how we’d price ours.”

No. Just no.

First, their home was a ranch and the house across the street was a split foyer. The split foyer had more square footage and was newer than their ranch. I sat down with them, explained how we determine square footage, and showed them some appropriate comps. My explanation justified my telling them that they had overpriced their home. It wasn’t their fault, they just didn’t know how it’s done, they tried to do it on their own and all the buyers coming through their very nice home weren’t putting offers in because it was priced too high. The sellers were disappointed, but the numbers don’t lie and they accepted my clients’ offer. (Annnnnnnnnnd this is why you hire a Realtor. That’s another blog post for another time.)

There is so much to say about those particular factors because it’s not quite as easy as I made it sound a couple of paragraphs ago. Yes, we look at age, location, style, condition and size, but, some homes have some very unique features, some have more land than others, some are in terrible condition, while others, although older, might be incredibly well-maintained. Some have pools, while others have heated garages with workshops.  These different characteristics and features mean different things to each individual. Understand that all of those factors above deviate from house to house and need to be considered in order to put a reasonable price tag on it.

But again, here’s the bottom line. A buyer will ultimately determine the price of a home. You can get my opinion. You can hire an appraiser, and get his opinion. And those are excellent steps to take in helping you price a home, but the truth is, a home’s value is determined by the amount for which it’s purchased.

If you’re a renter and you want to know if owning a home is a possibility, talk to a Realtor and ask her to help you find something comparable in price to what you pay in rent. Talk about taxes and insurance, HOA fees, principal and interest and basic home maintenance. A good Realtor can not only help you through that process and recommend a dependable and efficient local lender, a good Realtor will also run comps on houses you’re interested in purchasing to verify you’re not overpaying for a house.

Already own a home but don’t want to move? That’s ok! A Realtor can look at your home, learn a little about it and give you an idea of where your home stands in the grand scheme of your local market. Knowing what your assets are worth is really helpful when you need to talk about upcoming life changes of any sort. That’s when you ask for a Real Estate Review- it’s full of useful information about what’s going on in the market- locally and statewide, even on a national level- as well as statistics and input about where your home stands in the middle of it all. I do Real Estate Reviews for some of my clients every year at the same time so they can see how their investment has appreciated.

Ready to sell? That’s when you want a Realtor to do a Comparative Market Analysis, or a CMA, because this is where pricing is really important. You can have a spectacular home, brimming with all the latest and greatest home trends, appliances, new mechanicals, new roof, stunning curb appeal, but if it’s priced too high, it’ll sit and just continue to cost you more money and waste your time. Here’s why… buyers have agents too.  Remember what I said about protecting buyers from paying too much? If I walk my buyers through a house and they love it, I’ll run comps (comparables) on it and if I think it’s too high or in danger of not appraising when their lender orders an appraisal, I’ll tell my clients. And while there are lots of sellers out there that think if they price it high, someone can always put in a lower offer, consider this… How many auctions do you go to where the auctioneer says, “We’re starting this item at $1000” and everyone starts bidding at $700, 750, 800. Nobody does that. My broker used that once and I thought it was brilliant. Don’t fall into the “I’ll price it higher, and they can always put in a lower offer” trap.

There are things you can change and things you can’t that will affect the price of your home. You’re not going to pick up the house and move it, so you can’t change the location. Unless you want to add an addition right before you put it on the market, you can’t change the size. I’ve never been exposed to anyone with magical powers that can change the age of a home and save adding a second floor or completely renovating the home before you sell it, you can’t make your two-story a ranch or your split foyer into a two-story. The only thing you can change is the condition. Your Realtor will be able to guide you on what changes will pay off and surprisingly, some of it won’t cost you much but will have significant impact and make a huge difference in how people see your home.

With all that said, it’s fascinating to me what people are attracted to and if someone finds something about your home that’s a good fit for them or makes it their “forever home”, they might very well pay you over asking price and there it is… the home is worth what someone will pay.

Personally, my favorite homes are what I call the “grandma house”. Generally, Grandmas take care of things. They have things repaired. They change filters. They might not put up the latest light fixtures, but they’ll upgrade the electrical panel if it needs doing. They probably don’t have the most modern appliances, but they clean and care for the ones they have, and they still work, even if they are a thousand years old. Grandmas are the best. They are proud homeowners and they take care of their shit. That’s the best description I can give you and when I walk into a Grandma House, I almost always fall in love with it and appreciate the effort the sellers have made to keep it in pristine condition, despite the fact that it isn’t completely updated. I’m not a fan of trends so I’ll take Grandma’s house any day. I open the door to a mid-century, brick, ranch home and it’s SWOON time. Brass or crystal doorknobs, pocket doors, solid wood paneling, walk-through pantries (not panties- I may or may not have listed a home with an enormous panty once.) Those are the things that make my heart go pitter-patter. Hardwood floors, blonde wood trim, built-ins…it just kills me. I don’t even care if it smells like Grandma’s house. I’m all in. I once came across a flecked Formica countertop with a built-in blender. A BUILT IN BLENDER!  I just shouted that while I typed it. Oh! The wonder of it! And a Dutch door? A Dutch door could be the cherry on top that sends me right to the writing table. I saw one recently and I was so happy my client was just as excited about it as I was because I felt a lot less weird. She is clearly one of my people.

So… doesn’t matter what your situation is- talk to a Realtor (preferably me, of course, but if you’ve got someone who understands you, stay with them) today about the possibilities for your future, the value of your assets or request a CMA and consider the possibility of selling your home and as my brokerage Ruhl&Ruhl says, “move from the life you have to the life you dream about.”  

In the Event of Death- A Food Review and Some Insights Into My Marriage

A few months ago, I was warming a meal I purchased from Alyssa at Healthy 2 Wholesome and Scott the Hubs walked into the kitchen. Here’s the first insight into my marriage… Scott the Hubs likes to come into the kitchen when I’m whipping up dinner in there, but get this…he always stands right in front of the sink. Do you know how many times during the course of fixing a meal that a cook uses the sink? Correct. About 5200 times.    

<eyeroll>

The thing is, I love when he comes into the kitchen to talk to me, so I try to keep the deep sighs and the eyerolls to a minimum.

Anyway, this is the conversation that ensued…

Deb- “If something happens to me, what is the first call you make? Before 911, before the coroner, before insurance or the attorney. Who do you call?”

Scott the Hubs- “Alyssa who makes the meals.”

Deb- “Excellent.”

Insight #2- I can promise you, Scott the Hubs does not remember that conversation. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve said, “you know we’ve already had this conversation.” So, while he may not remember that particular conversation, he does, however, know the drill. Alyssa is the first phone call and that’s because that dude is going to need to eat.

Why is that, you ask? Can’t an intelligent middle-aged man who can leap tall computers in a single bound and build a IT network like he’s playing with children’s building blocks, cook a meal for himself? Scott, a quiet man and a hottie, I might add, is truly a genius. He’s got common sense. He welcomes the challenge of a deadline or a new project. He’s focused and has a rare work ethic. He reads a book or more a week. He handles all of our finances. (Side note, if I was in charge of finances, we would be residing in a cardboard box under the I-74 bridge.) He does a beautiful job of taking care of our lawn and doing things I need done around the house. So can’t that man open a can of green beans and make a burger?

Here comes insight #3.

No. The answer is undoubtedly and unequivocally, without argument, no. Scott’s mom stayed home with six kids and she fed them all very well. In college, he worked at The Huddle on the Notre Dame campus. The Huddle was a place where students went for non-cafeteria style food, so when he was working, he ate there. When he wasn’t working, he ate in the dining hall. After graduating ND and working in the juvenile detention home where we met, he ate with the kids and was guaranteed at least one meal per shift. At his apartment, he ate frozen pizza and frozen burritos. Scott does not cook. He has never had to. He can, however, warm up a meal. And you might think he would be offended that I am offering up this information so freely to my readers, but he knows who he is and readily admits that he doesn’t know his way around the kitchen.

When my family first became acquainted with Scott the Hubs, my mom and grandma instantly found that he loved to eat whatever they made him, so they set out to break world records in pie, banana bread and cookie baking. At Grandma’s house, after a big meal, she would serve all of her children and grandchildren dessert. I remember once, before we were married, Scott walked up to the table where Grandma was serving our choice of two desserts- pumpkin pie and apple crisp. She asked Scott what he would like and he said in his annoying, soft, hard-to-resist voice, “hmmmm. I can’t decide. Can I have a little of each?” “Of course you can, Love,” Grandma replied, lovingly. My cousin was in line after Scott and asked if he could have two pieces also and she quickly snapped, “no.” I’m not kidding when I tell you my Grandma loved Scott more than me, her own grandchild. Scott ate that up just as quickly as he did the desserts.

We’ve been married 24 years this month. I’ve been cooking for a long time. I have done my best to serve meals to Scott the Hubs and our boys that helped heal them in times of sickness, provided protein for their weightlifting needs and kept them full for years. I have used old family recipes that I’ve altered to make healthier, recipes from magazines and church cookbooks and Pinterest finds. When going away for a weekend, I have always made sure there was plenty for Scott the Hubs and the boys to eat.

I’ve cooked three course meals almost every night since I got married in June of 1999. I did it all through having babies, working full-time, staying home, and then working more than full-time. And you know what?

I’m tired.

I made a commitment a long time ago to provide for Scott the Hubs and that means giving him a good meal when he’s hungry. But here’s the thing. I’ve also determined that that meal doesn’t have to come from me.

Enter Alyssa, the owner of Healthy 2 Wholesome.

Alyssa operates her business out of a simple little building, nestled on the main road through Preemption, Illinois, and let me tell you, there is magic happening in that little storefront. Back in 2020, Alyssa began a quest to feed the people around her healthy meals created with not just local, simple and sometimes organic ingredients, but also love. I am so not kidding about that last part. This humble, kind and very brave woman puts her very heart and soul into the meals she makes and serves her customers. Brave, Deb? Really? Yes. I mean, starting a food business in 2020, which was, quite possibly, one of the worst years in the history of time. Well, that’s the very definition of the word “brave,” in my humble opinion.

Alyssa offers home-cooked, prepared meals and freezer meals to clients who can pick up the items at various places in and around the Quad Cities to enjoy at their own convenience. Her meal prep business is growing and becoming more recognized, but I think not enough people know about this healthy dining option, which has allowed us to be in our favorite dining spot of all- home.

Each week, Alyssa creates a new menu that can be picked up the following week. I buy several meals and while I am not much of a leftover-eater, I will heat up some of my favorites to serve for dinner.  I enjoy her Sweet Potato Fajita Bowl, the Cajun Chicken Pasta, the Pulled Pork Street Tacos and the Buffalo Chicken Casserole she serves with broccoli. The biscuits and gravy, even the gluten-free ones, are fire. The rest of the meals I order, I divide up and send with Scott the Hubs for lunch, which saves me a ton of time the night before when I’m getting ready for the next day.

Scott the Hubs enjoys everything Alyssa and her team creates, but the Mediterranean Quinoa Power Bowl, the Pulled Pork over Sweet Potatoes and Zucchini and Sweet Corn Crustless Quiche are among his favorites.

Which leads me to Marital Insight #4… Scott the Hubs is forever grateful for anything I do for him. He loves when I cook; in fact, for probably the last ten years of marriage, whenever I bring his meal and put it in front of him, he always says, “wow, Deborah, this is a meal fit for a king.” I might roll my eyes sometimes and laugh when he says it, but it always gives me the warm fuzzies. He’s so appreciative of what I make and the time I spent on it. And even if I don’t like what I made, he always disagrees and tells me it’s excellent and he loves it. On the flip side, though, he also appreciates that sometimes my real estate career isn’t always conducive to my being home an hour before dinner to create a meal, so when I pull one of Alyssa’s meals out of the fridge, he knows he’s getting something tasty and healthy.

Alyssa is saving me so much time and sanity, especially on those really busy real estate days and eventually, when I…you know… bite the big one…she’ll save Scott the Hubs too.


You can check out Alyssa’s business on Facebook under Healthy 2 Wholesome or her website at H2Wmeals.com.

Going Greek in Iowa

No. I’m not talking about pledging your favorite sorority or fraternity. This is way less expensive with a better return, because that return is FOOD and a full stomach. I recently took a trip to Eldridge, Iowa (well, not exactly a trip, per say. I mean, it’s 15 minute drive. Maybe “jaunt” is more appropriate.) Michelle the Friend and I decided to check out Gyro 600, a quaint little eatery on LeClaire Road. Let me preface this review with a significant piece of information… I don’t vary much from my favorite meats. You want me to test out a burger or a steak? I’m your top girl. Got some chicken you want to share? Count me in. New pork dish? On it. I will eat turkey on Thanksgiving, hot out of the oven but not leftover. Fish? Well. I’m a fan of the series Parks & Recreation and an even bigger fan of Ron Swanson, who claims, “fish meat is practically a vegetable.” With that said, if you dip some bass or other mild fish in a beer batter and fry it to a crisp and lovely golden color and give me a bottle of malt vinegar, I’m all in. Give me a white, sad filet with no crunch and no substance, AND if I can smell it while I’m eating it, I’m out.

So back to Eldridge. Being the newfound food critic that I am and only slightly unworldly, I was not aware that gyro meat was lamb until I was about to order. And since lamb doesn’t qualify as one of the three main meats I will eat, I was forced to change my order quickly, leaving me feeling a little bummed that I wasn’t getting the full gyro experience.  However, Gyro 600 has a nice variety of platters and options to choose from so I went with Souvlaki, which is chicken on a kabob with basmati rice and was served with a Greek salad on the side. I love a Greek salad- the olives, the Feta, even the tomatoes. Normally I pick out all the tomatoes but I ate them this time and it was a supremely fresh salad. The chicken was served with a tzatziki sauce which was slightly tangy and full of flavor. The chicken had a pretty mild flavor and was also served with tzatziki sauce and was overall was a very light dish, which would explain why people who eat a Mediterranean diet are thin.

I wanted to try Falafel, which has always sounded falawful to me, but I found it was rather falwonderful. I did a little research beforehand since I didn’t really know what falafel was and was more than pleasantly surprised to find that it’s a deep-fried ball of ground chickpeas. Well, damn! Had I known falafel was faldeep-falfried, I’d have been on that from the git go.

Last course, we indulged in some honey baklava, a flakey pastry filled with ground almonds, walnuts and of course, you got it, honey. I’ve decided I could quite possibly live on a diet of Falafel and Baklava.

Fast forward to the end of the week, I had managed to muster up the courage to try the actual gyro meat and after Scott the Hubs asked if I’d like to get out for a while for a little drive, I suggested we go to Eldridge for my second trip of the week and do it quickly before my courage waned.

I walked right up to the counter and blurted out that I wanted the “Greek Gyro Platter” before I had a chance to change my mind. And of course, a faldeightful side of falafel. I gave the gyro meat a shot and while I will admit that the flavors are really tasty and the seasoning is fabulous AND there is something about that tzatziki sauce that compliments the flavor so nicely, I’m just not a fan of gyro meat. Honestly, I think it has more to do with the fact that Mary had a little lamb and its fleece was white as snow and eating that lamb is more than I can bear.

All that said, the platter allows you try several things- the Souvlaki, all-beef meatballs (thank God for all beef) and then the gyro and chicken gyro meats as well. It’s all very good but I’ve decided to add the meatballs to my repertoire of favorites- falafel and baklava- because those meatballs are the shizzle and can turn my frizz-own upside-dizzity.

(Scott the Hubs also enjoyed his meal, which was identical to mine, which is another blog post in itself and is coming up soon in the near future.)

About the service at Gyro 600- I tried to find some info on the people that run it- are they family? Random people? Where did they live before this area? I detect some accents and usually I’m very good about getting chummy with people and asking them to tell me more about themselves, but I’ll do that on my next visit. I don’t want to be over-bearing. Haha, I couldn’t even TYPE that without laughing. Anyway, whatever their story, they are a ray of sunshine. Very kind, helpful, great at making suggestions and obviously very happy when you love their food. They aim to please and I aim to add Gyro 600 to my regular rotation.

Next up, another recommendation and a little insight into my marriage with Scott the Hubs.

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