Chapter 1.1 Military Life to Civilian Life, who was master of ceremonies mom or Grandma?

Moving from North Dakota to Minnesota was fairly uneventful for me, I do remember Dad driving the moving van and seeing it parked in front of our final destination at my grandma's house in Renville. Looking at the old homestead, our new home; I was indifferent to the fact that it was my grandma's home. I had my own room at the top of the stairs covered in musty old, flowered wallpaper, which eventually became filled with all of the things that filled my modern room in our rambler on the military base in North Dakota. It was a small room, but I cherished it. The smell of the old house, the old staircase that separated the kitchen from the parlor all still vivid in my mind. Even as a young girl I thought my grandparents must have really been something with the cool furniture that filled their home. The faux red velvet couch and matching oversized chair; the ornate wood detail on the arms, the dining room table with all of the leaves that stretched throughout the entire dining room when our family and relatives gathered at it. The bay window that looked out toward the side of the house at the time, and next to it, the outside door to the cellar that led underneath the house. The scariest part of that house was the basement, I dreaded going into the tiny dark pantry with only one pull chain light and a door at the back that opened to the steep steps that were more of a ladder landing on the dirt floor. The smell of the damp dirt made the air heavy and uncomfortable, to the point I no longer wanted to be down there, kind of like Kevin in Home Alone, but I don't think I ever overcame the eerie feeling I got and never braved going down there on my own. Soon after we settled in, things around the house started to change physically and emotionally. Dad, the handyman, was hard at it and built an extra bathroom in the back porch, I think it had dark blue carpet. The rest of the house remained the same until the plan was in place to build a new home, as mom referred to on "Dat Spot". That statement would grow to become quite controversial and would eventually become quite uncomfortable for me as I realized she was mocking my grandma. I was too young at the time to know exactly why she and grandma didn't get along, but I would come to realize that growing into a strong woman was inevitable for me, in hindsight I hope I grew to handle such controversary more effective than my mentors, but as time tells the story, it was not a given. I have so many unique memories in that old house, the bunnies in the backyard, the peonies in the front that would later become part of a photo shoot for me and my longtime friend Lisa, mom sitting with me in my room with the door closed while dad and the boys chased the bats out of the upstairs. At 6 or 7 years old, I also recall one of the first times I really got in trouble, remember, dad was military and very matter of fact, harsh more often than not. This would be a start to the many ways my dad and I were challenged by each other; this particular incident, he yelled at me and sent me to my room, I had a large round cardboard barrel in my room that I kept my toys in. I hid behind it and wrote I hate my dad in pencil. Well, he saw it and I got scolded for that too and ended up bawling my eyes out again, his words piercing my ears and into my soul. Mom consoled me while dad was still laying into me, and finally mom said, probably with a Delbourne! preface... you can't really be mad at her for saying how she feels. To this day, I am not sure if that statement was a blessing or a curse on me, but I do know that there were many more battle of wills all around on Birch Street for many years to come. All playing a part in the long journey ahead.