In case you haven’t read it yet, my front-page story from Mayor’s State of the City address last week in Grandview refers to the reduction in crime in our beloved city. Not a slight reduction, either. Crime in Grandview has plummeted by 12 percent. This is huge. For a community that, for years, received a bad rap in the metro and was considered one of the fastest dying cities not all that long ago, Grandview has made tremendous strides.
It’s hard to sit through presentations, like the Mayor’s State of the City address, or Grandview school board meetings, or even a Chamber of Commerce networking event, and not get excited about the things happening in our town.
Grandview has a lot to be proud of. In recent years, plans have been implemented and dollars have been spent to help improve the image of this great city. Now, as Mayor Jones alluded to last week, it is in the hands of us, the citizens of Grandview, to keep the talk positive.
I’m proud to be from Grandview, and I’m even more proud to work alongside some of the metro’s finest men and women each day, telling the good stories of what is going on around here.
The Grandview School District’s leadership has dubbed this school year as a year of momentum.
Grandview Mayor Leonard Jones said that Grandview is a place where dreams can begin and come true for those who live here. If I had to sum up my thoughts on Grandview for the foreseeable future, I think I’d say we are pursuing hope - not just in planning for the future, but in preserving our rich community history.
President Harry S Truman walked the streets of Grandview, the same streets we frequent today. He cultivated the family farm and dreams of his own during his time here. He helped to create a momentum for this city to prosper, and despite our ups and downs, we continue to walk down his path.
He was quoted once as saying, “Prosperous farmers make for a prosperous nation, and when farmers are in trouble, the nation is in trouble.”
When Grandview is successful and thriving, the community benefits in many ways. We can thank the police department, city leadership, and others for the reduction in crime in our city. And, I do. Very much so. However, I think we also need to look inward, and pat ourselves on the back for a job well done. It truly does take a village, and I’m lucky to be a part of this one.
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Thursday, January 17, 2019
Many years ago, when Michael (now 13) was just barely walking, I remember making him snow ice cream for the very first time. I sent him outside, bundled up like the little brother from A Christmas Story, with a wooden spoon in one hand and a big, plastic bowl in the other, telling him to find the cleanest snow he could find.
The first time he did this, I remember how excited he was to make something out of the snow in our yard. And, I’m sure, he was thrilled that I was actually allowing him to put something from the ground in his mouth.
Of course, while he was young, I had to pick dried leaves and sticks out of the bowl before I deemed it edible. Michael would help pour in the ingredients, and I let him think he was doing most of the mixing while I went behind him and stirred it up.
Snow ice cream is a simple treat. We make it with a can of sweetened condensed milk and a little bit of vanilla extract. As time has passed, I have made sure to keep the ingredients on hand every winter.
This last snow, I though, would surely be the one where Michael didn’t ask for his snow ice cream.
But, sure enough, as soon as the forecast showed snow early last week, Michael asked if we’d be carrying on the tradition.
“Of course,” I told him, checking the cabinet to ensure nothing was expired (past-date sweetened condensed milk is no good; trust us on this). My teenage son, armed with bowl and spoon, headed out to scoop up some white snow for our treat. I watched from the window, remembering when he was just a little bitty thing, and was reminded that while he has grown and so much has changed, some things have remained the same.
“It’s not as good as I remember it being,” he told me, after we’d mixed and put the latest batch of snow ice cream in our bowls.
“It’s not the flavor of the ice cream, but the novelty of it, that you remember being so good,” I told him. He nodded, and took his bowl of snow ice cream with him to his room to continue playing video games.
Alone I sat, in my living room with the blinds open, watching as snow continued to fall last Saturday, with the sound of Fortnite coming from the other room, the taste of cold, sweet vanilla on my tongue, and a warmth in my heart for ongoing traditions with my son.
The first time he did this, I remember how excited he was to make something out of the snow in our yard. And, I’m sure, he was thrilled that I was actually allowing him to put something from the ground in his mouth.
Of course, while he was young, I had to pick dried leaves and sticks out of the bowl before I deemed it edible. Michael would help pour in the ingredients, and I let him think he was doing most of the mixing while I went behind him and stirred it up.
Snow ice cream is a simple treat. We make it with a can of sweetened condensed milk and a little bit of vanilla extract. As time has passed, I have made sure to keep the ingredients on hand every winter.
This last snow, I though, would surely be the one where Michael didn’t ask for his snow ice cream.
But, sure enough, as soon as the forecast showed snow early last week, Michael asked if we’d be carrying on the tradition.
“Of course,” I told him, checking the cabinet to ensure nothing was expired (past-date sweetened condensed milk is no good; trust us on this). My teenage son, armed with bowl and spoon, headed out to scoop up some white snow for our treat. I watched from the window, remembering when he was just a little bitty thing, and was reminded that while he has grown and so much has changed, some things have remained the same.
“It’s not as good as I remember it being,” he told me, after we’d mixed and put the latest batch of snow ice cream in our bowls.
“It’s not the flavor of the ice cream, but the novelty of it, that you remember being so good,” I told him. He nodded, and took his bowl of snow ice cream with him to his room to continue playing video games.
Alone I sat, in my living room with the blinds open, watching as snow continued to fall last Saturday, with the sound of Fortnite coming from the other room, the taste of cold, sweet vanilla on my tongue, and a warmth in my heart for ongoing traditions with my son.
Thursday, January 3, 2019
Last year, around this time, I had a lot of hope for 2018. I looked forward to closing some doors, and opening others wide open to see what was on the other side. I glimpsed back on 2017 with a smile, knowing I gave it my all, and looked at 2018 with eagerness and joy. And, 2019 looks to be full of the same hopes and dreams, and a little more love for me.
I found new love, and new dreams, in 2018. Back in April, I met a guy online (because, that’s simply how you have to meet people nowadays, though it certainly wasn’t my favorite, and I could probably write a book on my online dating experiences). However, immediately, I knew that he was different. I could tell from the first time I met him that this was going to be something special.
Over the next several months, we went out as often as possible. In the beginning, it was tough, because dating with kids and jobs and responsibilities proved to be a challenge. But, we continued to make time for each other and get to know one another as much as possible. Somewhere along the way, we both fell in love.
We went through the motions of introducing our kids, first to us, then to one another. Then we met the parents on both sides. It all seemed natural, exciting, and as each day and week passed, I found myself caring more and more about this man.
He is a true gentleman, handsome, caring and funny. He makes me smile all the time and he truly feels like home. So, it was inevitable, then, that on December 22, eight months after our first date, he asked me to marry him. It wasn’t a surprise to me, because we had talked about our future since the beginning, and I got to a point where I couldn’t imagine one without him in it.
In 2018, this Mary found her Joseph, quite literally. I’m heading into 2019 with a lot of love in my heart, a beautiful ring on my hand, and the promise of forever from a man who will hold my hand through whatever life throws my way. It’s going to be a Happy New Year for me, indeed.
I found new love, and new dreams, in 2018. Back in April, I met a guy online (because, that’s simply how you have to meet people nowadays, though it certainly wasn’t my favorite, and I could probably write a book on my online dating experiences). However, immediately, I knew that he was different. I could tell from the first time I met him that this was going to be something special.
Over the next several months, we went out as often as possible. In the beginning, it was tough, because dating with kids and jobs and responsibilities proved to be a challenge. But, we continued to make time for each other and get to know one another as much as possible. Somewhere along the way, we both fell in love.
We went through the motions of introducing our kids, first to us, then to one another. Then we met the parents on both sides. It all seemed natural, exciting, and as each day and week passed, I found myself caring more and more about this man.
He is a true gentleman, handsome, caring and funny. He makes me smile all the time and he truly feels like home. So, it was inevitable, then, that on December 22, eight months after our first date, he asked me to marry him. It wasn’t a surprise to me, because we had talked about our future since the beginning, and I got to a point where I couldn’t imagine one without him in it.
In 2018, this Mary found her Joseph, quite literally. I’m heading into 2019 with a lot of love in my heart, a beautiful ring on my hand, and the promise of forever from a man who will hold my hand through whatever life throws my way. It’s going to be a Happy New Year for me, indeed.
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