Life in a Resort Town: Two Years in Pentwater and Retirement

View from downtown Pentwater, MI

We moved into the Pentwater UMC parsonage in late June 2012.

Parsonage, Centenary UMC Pentwater, MI

July 4 was the beginning of the summer tourist season. The village of about 900 became bloated to 1,5000 with summer people--people with summer homes, or who lived on sailboats in the marina, or who camped at the state park. And it was the first Sunday the church held summer worship service on the city green, using the gazebo with the congregation sitting on lawn chairs on the green.

Downtown Pentwater; the church at the left

The Gazebo at the village green

It was a daunting first Sunday in the pulpit! Surrounded by strangers in shorts and sun hats, talking into a mic from the steps of the gazebo. After the service, the pastor had to move quickly for the second service in the church for the older or more traditional folk.

The Pentwater beach

When our son was growing up we had attended the conference Family Camp at Pentwater. Chris loved the beach. I would go into town to look at the antique stores and shops. One day I remarked to a teen that it was a beautiful place to grow up. He just scowled at me.

I have severe dry eye from Sjogrin's syndrome and an autoimmune reaction to sunlight. I avoid a lot of direct sun. We went to the beach at day's end a few times.

The Pentwater lake opens to Lake Michigan
photo by Thomas Gochenour

It wasn't until the end of summer and the summer folk left that we could find out who the year round folk were, the folk who ran the church.

In the fall, a series of meet-and-greets in private home was set up for us at a rate of two a week for about a month. Each gathering had a dozen or so folk. It was, for introverts, frankly exhausting. Some folk we met were gone to winter homes before Thanksgiving, not to be seen again until spring.

Lake Michigan during Hurricane Sandy
We left with sand in our nose and ears

As winter closed in, the last of the downtown shops closed. Remaining open were some bars and the grocery store near the marina, stocked with small sizes of products and loads of booze, but with a minimum of stock. A very minimum.

The Pentwater marina in early winter

The lake in early winter

We drove down the expressway to Ludington, or Hart, or Norton Shores for essentials like groceries, vet care, doctors, or a mall.

On our way to Ludington we went past a large wind farm 

I spent most of my time in the family room!

The parsonage was huge, built in the 1970s for a large pastoral family. But it was cheaply made and needing TLC. Early on my dog and I both tripped on the back door steps. Suki would never again go in that door. If I let her out the back door to do her business she ran to the front door to get back in! When I tripped and fell I asked the Trustee chair about safety improvements. The entry steps were all too high and the basement stair rail was inadequate.

Kamikaze

Suki

A man volunteered to improve the basement railing. I asked the trustee if there was paint and painting supplies so I could first paint the wall that would be covered by the railing. It had not been painted since the house was built and looked pretty sad. The man exploded and yelled. I was shocked. He said I 'wanted everything' and he resented that pastors got free housing, and because they got free housing they should pay for the upkeep out of pocket. He had me crying.

It was like I had PTSD, the hurts from past church experiences just below the surface. I called the Staff Parish chair and told her what had happened. They knew the Trustee had a short fuse. He later called to apologize but said we were both in the wrong. I said no, he was in the wrong, he attacked me and made me cry and continued to vent at me after I was crying. I said I would not work with someone who was abusive.

His behavior changed for the rest of our stay and he and his wife was very friendly.

A new trustee chair came on. He was just wonderful to work with. I talked him through the concerns we had, and he systematically addressed them. Some were dealt with after we left, but they were dealt with.

We joined Chris in Clawson for holidays. We had also brought Gary's dad from Grand Blanc to spend holidays with us in Clawson. In January 2013 Herman passed at age 96. Now all of our parents were gone.

I joined a Sunday school class and made friends with the teacher and several other ladies. I spent a lot of time on genealogy in these days and began my blog. Gary and I went on a vegetarian diet, too, and we both lost weight. There was no fenced yard and I walked the dogs every few hours. They liked to go a block away where there was a woods. In the winter when the roads were sheets of ice, Gary walked the dogs with cleats on his boots. I could not take the bitter cold; I would walk with my eyes squinted or closed and had to wear double thickness mittens.

Downtown Pentwater in winter 2014

Winter in Pentwater! Yikes! We looked out the windows at empty houses. The roads were not salted, only plowed, and the snow packed down and became treacherous. I could not even walk to the mailbox. We shoved a path in the snow for our dogs to use.

January 2014

We could hear the waves on the beach, we were so close to Lake Michigan. The windows would shake and rattle in the wind.

I got such cabin fever! Getting to the expressway on back roads could be treacherous. There was a reason so many only live in Pentwater during the summer! Our second winter there was 196 inches of snow in Ludington just a few miles up the road. Gary had to shovel out the mail box every day.

Gary shoveling out the mail box winter 2014

Trillium in the yard of a local summer home

Spring was very welcome! Morel mushrooms sprouted up in the yard under the pine trees.

Morel mushroom that grew in our yard

And the people returned. Every weekend there was some special event to draw tourists. Some weekends people were parked on all the streets across town.

Centenary UMC church

I designed a quilt for Charles Dickens. Embroidered scenes from his books have titles based on Dickens own handwriting in his manuscripts. I used fabrics and a quilt style reminiscent of 19th c British quilts. The center features Dickens with his signature.

Charles Dickens quilt by Nancy A. Bekofske

Prince's Feather by Nancy A. Bekofske

I organized a quilt display held at the church. A mostly older congregation of retirees, they had a lot of heirloom quilts.

We displayed the quilts on the pews. Some beautiful quilts came out of the closets! A man who was in the marina that weekend, on his sail boat, heard about the show and was eager to see it. He turned out to be the organizer of the Coopersville Farm Museum show, Quilts and their Stories, which I had attended and had quilts in. He was also the brother of a well known quilter! He was excited to find a Gees Bend quilt in the show, owned by a member.

Detail of Gees Bend quilt

The church held a free midweek dinner for the community. Oceana County is very poor, and Pentwater was a rich man's playground. Those who could donated much and those who had not ate free. People came from all over the county.

The head cook wanted a better oven. A committee was formed. They studied other kitchens, investigated, and wrote up a report with suggestions. The problem was they had Cadillac tastes that were too expensive for the church's budget or need. The committee felt slighted. They wrote a letter of complaint, and mentioned the pastor.

Gary and I, 2012

Well, that PTSD thing I mentioned? It hit Gary hard. He hated what was going on, people leaving the church over, in the big picture, what was a small thing.

Gary wanted to retire in February when he turned 65. The Bishop said no, he could only retire July 1 when the usual pastoral appointment started. We had a choice: leave in two months or fourteen.

The prospect of another Pentwater winter was daunting. It took us 4 to  4 to 4 1/2 hrs to get to Clawson on a good day, traveling with two dogs and stopping several times to stretch all our legs. Christmas 2013 it took over five hours. Gary had a Christmas Eve worship service so we did not leave until Christmas Day--in a blizzard. We did not drive out of the snow until Lansing.

Our car was covered in snow on Christmas Day 2013

Trees broken by the icy snow storm of Christmas 2013

Gary checked with the investment manager. He said we could afford to retire right then. Gary gave his notice: he would retire on July 1, 2014.

The Clawson house; my brother gifted a tree at Gary's retirement

We had to scramble! We had a big garage sale in Pentwater and gave away all our kitchen stuff, bedsteads, mattresses, and a couch to an organization that helped people with household needs. Then we went to Clawson and held another big sale at giveaway prices, gave away things on Freecycle, and carted truckloads to the Salvation Army. We left the doggies with Chris and returned to Pentwater to pack.

A week before we moved in I was in Clawson getting a basement crack repaired. It was providential.

The basement stuffed with our boxes, June, 2014

In late June we moved to Clawson. The house was stuffed with boxes, especially the basement with all of our books, my quilts and fabric, and photographs and files. In August heavy rains caused area-wide flooding. Our son and I looked out the window at the street like a flowing river, pooling into a lake at the low spot in the road a block away.

Neighbors lost everything in their basements in the August 2014 flood

Over the next weeks we counted ourselves very lucky for having fixed that cracked basement wall before moving in. Our block, on a hill, was not flooded. But everywhere else people lost everything in their basement, from the furnace to their furnishings. One gal we talked to even lost her brand new truck when the garage flooded and said the water reached her front doorstep.

Our son had been living in Clawson since his college graduation. He had a good job at Kelley Services and was being prepped and promoted by his boss. On Sundays young men  came to the house for role playing games. At first we vacated the house for them, but as they got to know us we hung around and just gave them space. Last year our son bought his first house.

John Quincy Adams by Nancy A. Bekofske

In 2014 I responded to a call for quilters to contribute to a Presidents Quilt traveling exhibit; I asked for John Quincy Adams. The quilt traveled for a year and appeared in Sue Reich's book Quilts Presidential and Patriotic..

 The book also shows my quilt Remember the Ladies.

Remember the Ladies in Quilts Presidential and Patriotic

I joined the local quilt guild and a weekly quilt group, and Gary and I helped start a book club at the local library. Over the last three years our doggies health declined. They became blind, and then cognitive disorder set in. We lost them both this past summer.

Suki and Kamikaze in their last months

My son told me about NetGalley which connects publishers and book reviewers. Then I learned about other sources for books for review. I have read 160 books a year these past few years!

My writing desk, with one of Mom's paintings

I keep busy with blogging, reading and reviewing, quilting, my weekly quilt group, and two book clubs.

As a girl I wanted to work in the library and help people find books to read, and now I am as a book reviewer.

As a girl I wanted to write a newspaper, and now I blog.

As a Christian I wanted to promote justice and peace, and now by choosing what books I review I do that, too.

As a teen I became interested in environmental protection, and again, choosing books I can promote that interest.

And of course, my love of books and art and music has been with me since Philip Sheridan Elementary School in Tonawanda, NY. Quilting has allowed me to use my creativity as art and as comfort.

All that I have seen and read and been feeds into this blog. Thanks for sharing my journey with me.

Nancy as a baby

Nancy age 3

Nancy, age 8, with brother Tom

Nancy, 7th grade

Nancy, age 15

Elina Salmi, my Finnish exchange student sister, and me 1969

Nancy's high school graduation pic

Nancy and Gary, 1971

Nancy and Gary, 1972

Gary's graduation, 1975

My graduation, 1978, with my parents

Nancy and Gary about 1979

Nancy and Chris, 1987

Chris, Gary and Nancy about 1990

2005, Gary, Chris and I, Hillsdale MI goodbye

Kili and I 

Nancy, Chris and Gary, Lansing MI

Nancy, 2011

Nancy 2014

Nancy and Gary 2017

A Warm and Humorous Accolade to Joe Biden

The Book of Joe: The Life, Wit, and (Sometimes Accidental) Wisdom of Joe Biden by Joe Wilser was a fun read that also educated me about Biden's career.

Jeff Wilser is admittedly a long time fan of Joe Biden, and his appreciation shows in The Book of Joe.

I had a lot of fun reading the stories of Joe's gaffs and greatness of heart.

Wilser succinctly covers Biden's career and contributions in an agreeable and accessible presentation. He extrapolates The Wisdom of Joe from Biden's life, replete with stories that illustrate Biden's core values.

I laughed and had to share stories, and I was inspired and impressed by Biden's character. Wilser does address Biden's errors and faults, yet the man's humanity and warmth shine through in a lasting impression. I read the book in a few days, a welcome feel-good book in a troubled world. The book makes me want to learn more about Joe Biden.

I received a free book from Blogging for Books in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

To Lay To Rest Our Ghosts by Caitlin Hamilton Summie

Caitlin Hamilton Summie's ten stories in To Lay To Rest Our Ghosts are heartfelt revelations into the universal experience of loss and grief. Told in the first person, each story offers a fully rounded and complex character caught in crisis. The stories are set in the upper Midwest where people 'grew up cold'.
The writing is lovely and evocative, transporting us into another's life and world.

• A girl whose father is a WWII pilot the admits that the war's generals were spoken of as if her family knew them personally. "I knew these men better than my father." 
• A woman's sister dies in a car crash. Their mother had died choking on a peanut butter sandwich. (This is not a joke. I was barely twenty when I met a man whose sister chocked to death on a peanut butter sandwich. I worry about this every time I have a PB sandwich.) The woman misses being close to her brother. She drinks too much. 
• I related to a woman who lasted only six months in New York City, lacking inner city street smarts and an understanding of the rules. My husband and I lived in the inner city for a year and a half before leaving. 
• The fierce need for independence drives a paraplegic to the family's deep woods cabin after his divorce. His brother fears for his safety living alone and pressures him to return.
• A woman visits her grandmother in the nursing home. She is desperately curious about her grandmother's sister, who no one speaks of. Yet that sister's name is embroidered on the family patchwork quilt. The woman asks her mother about this missing family member and is told that the grandmother asked her not to talk about it, "not to carry that particular ghost through the generations." The woman presses for information, battling over who would control the past.
• A man who grew up on a farm grapples with his son's wanting a different life for himself. The son fears his newborn son will never understand who he is without understanding the farm. 
• The death of a grandfather brings division between sisters, one who attended him in his illness and death while the other stayed away. Their own needs drive them apart as they try to find reconciliation.
• A single mother watches her only child, a daughter, leave for college. She had gone to California instead of taking a college scholarship, returning home pregnant. Now she is a mother, learning how to let go.
• An elderly man is bedridden in his son's house, his memory teeming with ghosts. He knows his son and daughter-in-law are getting weary while he lingers on. I was reminded of my grandfather Milo, my grandmother's second husband. He lived to be over 101, outlasting two wives and a daughter and three step-children. He wondered why God did not take him. He was unable to walk and was blind, living in my aunt's home. To have one's mind and a failing body is a horrible fate.
• After a miscarriage, a wife takes a break, leaving her husband to struggle on his own for a few days. He is comforted by a neighbor's dog who has adopted him as a surrogate owner. The neighbors are friendly but keep to themselves. The man realizes he did not even know his own wife's heart. He contemplates loss and grief and how we are all separate and alone in grief.

I purchased this as an ebook and read the stories over several weeks. I love these short stories; they are like a concentrated laser light into the human soul.

Owner of Caitlin Hamilton Marketing & Publicity, promotion for books, authors, publishers, and literary organizations, Caitlin has represented several books I have reviewed, The Velveteen Daughter by Laurel Davis Huber, This Is How it Begins by Joan Dempsey, and Wild Mountain by Nancy Hayes Kilgore. Read an interview with Caitlin about her personal library at David Abram's blog The Quivering Pen.

Elizabeth Berg's The Story of Arthur Truluv: A Model for Living

For six months Arthur Moses has packed a bag lunch and taken a bus to the cemetery to eat lunch with his wife Nola. He stops to visit her neighbors, reading their headstones and imagining the lives they had lived when alive. 

At Nola's graveside, Arthur sets up his folding chair and eats his sandwich. 

Arthur is eighty-five years old. His doctor congratulations him; he could live to be one hundred. It would be an empty life, now Nola Corrine the Beauty Queen is gone.

But on this spring day when the buds 'are all like tiny little pregnant women' and Arthur wishes Nola, like spring, would return again, even as a new born baby, Arthur notices he is not alone with his dead.

A teenage girl, who should be in school, is sitting under a tree. He has seen her before. This time, he waves. Her hand flies to her mouth, and thinking he has frightened her, Arthur leaves.

Maddy watches the old man walk to the bus. She is comforted by the graveyard. In life, she is a loner, a loser, a motherless girl with a distant father. She likes to take photographs of little things, blown up big. She sneaks out of the house at night to meet a handsome older boy. They don't talk much.

Arthur befriends Maddy, changing both their lives.

The Story of Arthur Truluv probes the depth of loneliness and depression in the elderly and the young, bringing disparate characters into clear focus, revealing their common humanity and mutual need. 

Arthur's untapped capacity for love expands and embraces Maddy, and then his cranky elderly neighbor Lucille. 

Named Truluv by Maddy, Arthur embodies true love not only for his lost Nola but also for the lost Maddy and unloved Lucille.

This charming, quiet novel will appeal to many readers. At first, though, I wondered what made it different? What made it worth reading over other books about friendship between the old and young or between the elderly?

In the Acknowledgements, Elizabeth Berg says, "When you write a novel as delicate as this one seemed to me to be, you can only hope that readers will see beyond the simple words on the page to the more complex meanings behind them."

And it hit me. This story is a kind of parable. 

"'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and, 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'"
“Who is my neighbor?”

Love your neighbor. And who is my neighbor? My neighbor is any person God has put in my path.

This gentle story reminds us to love one another. The cranky, the misfits, the girl with the nose ring, the ineffectual father, the unborn--and ourselves. 

Can we ever hear this message enough? It is today as revolutionary as it was millennium ago, going against common sense and financial sense, even against this administration's  governmental goals.

Our inability to love one another is the greatest threat to democracy today. We have cut ourselves off, categorizing our fellow human companions on this small planet as 'other', inferior, contemptible, unnecessary, mistaken, and misguided.  

Who should we love? The Parable of the Good Samaritan is not about helping those who are like us, supporting people of our ilk, class, race, faith. We are to love whoever God puts into our path. Right there, next door to us, the person mourning at the cemetery across from us, even the person who has caused another to feel unloved and rejected. We are to love the stranger, those who grieve, those who are angry, those who have been rejected, those who are warped, and those who cannot love themselves.

Arthur Truluv's example teaches us that by our acts we can impact the world for generations. Love your neighbor as yourself. If each of us resists the world's wisdom by this radical act, what a wonderful world it would be. 

I received a free ebook from the publisher through NetGalley in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.

The Story of Arthur Truluv
by Elizabeth Berg
Random House
Publication Date: November 21, 2017
$26 hardcover
ISBN: 9781400069903