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The Holly Hobby Journal - Fall of 1983
Journal entries from the fall of 1983 that accompany my Driving Lessons story.
The Real Field of Dreams
In the summer of 2002, my sons didn’t care about Kevin Costner. What they remember is standing on the field, pockets full of championship dirt, feeling part of something magical. This is a story about baseball, boyhood, and the kind of memories that last a lifetime.
Driving Lessons
It started with driving lessons around Remsen, Iowa, and ended with quiet moments that said everything. Grandpa Gib wasn’t just teaching me the rules of the road—he was showing me the road of life.
Two Miles to Yesterday
On graduation day in 1985, I ran two miles through my hometown chasing a future I couldn’t yet imagine. Forty years later, I’m still running—but now I see the value in everything I once left behind.
The Ambassador
I have known the Lanes for nearly 40 years, and it all began with Russ.
I met Russ Lane on the Westmar campus in the summer of 1985. Russ was a returning college student, and I was an incoming freshman.
Born on the Hottest Day of the Year
"You were born on the hottest day of the year!"
My grandparents would tell my mom this story, without fail, on her birthday each year. Mom, the oldest of nine children, was born in a humid Iowa hospital without air conditioning. Her parents enthusiastically shared this story of her July 1944 birth until they died in 2000.
A Gift From Joanie
“That’s the dress from your Aunt Joan!”
This was the Facebook comment I enjoyed most after posting photos from a wedding I attended in Slovenia.
The Color of Youth
Lake goals and life pace have changed dramatically since my teenage years in the 80s.
Oh my God, please tell me they have sunscreen on.
These were my thoughts as I ran around Lake Bled in Slovenia this morning.
My Favorite Job: Motel Cleaning at the Route 66 Hotel
I've been reminiscing recently about a cherished summer job in 1988. It was not the accounting internship I desired, nor a glamorous position; my job was cleaning motel rooms.
Meet Me at the Mexican Restaurant
“Let’s take a picture.”
This was my response when realizing we were sharing a family moment. Our family is no longer an ordinary family.
Tornado Shelter
“I’m going to run and pick up Garrett from the airport. Be right back.”
These were my parting words to Mom as I headed to the Omaha Airport for the third time in 24 hours.
Aunt Joan
My Aunt Joan died last weekend. Although her death wasn’t a surprise, her absence has left a hole.
Dying Alone
I’ve always had a comfortable relationship with time.
When asked to name a positive attribute about myself, this typically comes to mind. However, I don’t always say it.
Instead, I give another answer that is true but fits more neatly into the expected answer box.
Running Through Paris
I pulled my watch off its charger and onto my wrist in sleepy grogginess. Barely awake, I realized I was lying in a bed in Paris. And then I noticed the time.
“Oh, my God! Garrett, it’s 9:05!”
A Piano Story
Our beloved piano was on the auction block.
Soon up for bid as an auction item at my grandparents’ estate sale was our family piano.
This piano had a long and loving history with my family. It began at my grandparents’ home in the 1950s after being handpicked by my Grandpa’s sister, Sister Aidan.
Not a Winter Sports Kind of Person
I could hear my classmates outside, squealing in downhill delight while I sat alone by a warm fireplace.
It was March of 1985, and this senior trip was our last outing as a close-knit class of forty-four. The majority vote landed on an outdoor winter fun day at a nearby ski hill that offered skiing or tubing. I chose neither.
The Gift Horse
My great-aunt sat next to me on my grandma’s floral couch. Squeezing in closer, she presented me with a little box.
“How I enjoy all of your letters! They are so well written and full of updates on the goings on in Remsen.”
A Last Childhood Christmas
“Wow, the airplane wings are full of ice. Not good.”
The words came out of my brother’s mouth as he sat next to me on a commercial airplane.
It was December 1986, and my first real plane ride at age nineteen. My brother, Matt, was seasoned in flying, just finishing a two-year Army stint overseas.
I Believe
I followed my grandpa up the narrow steel ladder in the dark of night. My two brothers were behind me, with our breath filling the winter air. Our portly grandpa led the charge, his enthusiasm overcoming any lack of athleticism.
Detour to Denver
“I think he’s in the shower.”
I tried peaking in the front door window of Garrett’s home with my parents standing on either side of me. After ringing the doorbell twice, the only response was two barking dogs.
