Monthly Archives: April 2014

Ethereal Reader Book Club: Monuments Men

Posted in Book Reviews, Whimsies by

You will recall that Nana’s Whimsies hosts an online book club called Ethereal Reader. Following is a review of the book the group read. Anyone is welcome to participate in our discussion via comments. The original book review, posted below, was written by Jennifer Sanchez.

searchI enjoyed The Monuments Men: Allied Heroes, Nazi Thieves, and the Greatest Treasure Hunt in History by Robert M. Edsel very much. Typically when we review and discuss a book, we talk about how we felt about the author’s writing style. But while I read this book – and upon completion – I found I really didn’t have much of a thought about the author’s method of storytelling. Maybe because the genre was nonfiction.

I had never read about this aspect of WWII previously. Beckie and I saw the movie when I was approximately 130 pages into the book. I loved the movie and I think it helped me read the book more quickly than I would have without seeing it.

I was hooked on the story from the beginning . I enjoyed learning about the men that entered the war for this reason. And then of course as the story unraveled it became more and more compelling. I have read many, many novels that take place during WII. It is one of my favorite periods for a book to take place. This book made me feel emotions and have thoughts about this point in history that other stories have not brought forth.

One strong emotion was a feeling of patriotism. The evil, greed and mania that U.S. involvement helped put an end to makes me as proud of my country as I’ve ever felt. I particularly enjoyed learning about the details and territory covered by the Third and Seventh Armies and the pride they felt in the job they were doing. It brought to mind tidbits my mom had told me about one of her brothers who served in Africa. While I am certainly familiar with Generals Patton and Eisenhower, I loved hearing about their leadership, particularly within the story of this novel. Even the tasks that the Core of Engineers assisted in, following the end of the war, and their assistance to the Monument Men’s goals were amazing.

Other thoughts brought forth during this novel:

I have great respect for the men and women (example Rose) that are as passionate about their job and art as they were.

George Stout was remarkable, as the men that worked with him never failed to comment.

This novel brought forth information I had never contemplated. A paragraph on page 234 stands out regarding the amount of things that were stolen by the Nazis.

“Religious relics, altars, Torah scrolls, church bells, stained-glass windows, jewelry, archives, tapestries, …. Even trolley cars from the city of Amsterdam. “

We all are aware of the loss of lives during this war, but the amount of theft was astounding. Harry Ettlinger said, “ My knowledge of the Holocaust started really with the realization that it was not only the taking of lives but the taking of all of their belongings.”

And as the war was ending the Nazi plan to destroy bridges, factories — all things that the surviving German people would have had left from which to rebuild. Walker Hancock was quoted as saying, “The Germans were wonderfully disciplined and correct while they had the upper hand – and went berserk when it was obvious their visit was at an end.”

Walker Hancock wrote of the spring of 1945 when the war was coming to an end. The allies were going into the concentration camps and seeing things first hand. In Germany they would encounter German soldiers missing arms or legs, the civilians looking for direction or assistance. I love his words, “All such an exaggerated picture of the man-made way of life in a God-made world. If it all doesn’t prove the necessity of Heaven, I don’t know what it means.” And when the Jewish chaplain went into Buchenwald to conduct a service for the survivors and he stated they were anguished over the lack of a Torah. Hancock had one to give him and he stated, “The people were weeping, reaching for it, kissing it, overcome with joy at the sight of the symbol of their faith.” I found these such strong testaments to faith.

My last quote from the book: Lincoln Kirstein wrote to his wife at the end of the war when he was so very weary of it all, “I am not interested in lousy old Germany’s lousy old future.”

What are your thoughts? Were you aware of this effort to recover the stolen artwork during the war? Did you learn information you had not known previously?

 

Wascally Wabbit

Posted in Desserts, Recipes, Whimsies by

croppedI had one of those bolt-up-in-bed moments a week or so ago when something popped into my head that I hadn’t thought about in 45 years.

Every Easter, Gloor’s Bakery sold bunny cakes.

I texted my brother.

“Remember Dad’s bunny cakes?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he responded. “But in my mind they are mom’s bunny cakes. I remember doing the jelly beans and colored toothpick faces under her guidance.”

Hmmmm.

I texted Jen.

“Do you remember that we sold bunny cakes at the bakery at Easter?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “Mom was very enthusiastic about her bunny cakes at Easter time.”

Really?

The reason that surprises me is that Mom generally didn’t get particularly enthusiastic about bakery holiday rigamarole. And she heartily disliked cake decorating. And yet she apparently liked making these bunny cakes. Who would have guessed?

They were very cute, and we sold a whole lot of bunny cakes every Easter as I recall. They were decorated and stored in the freezer. I remember opening the freezer door and having 15 or 20 pairs of jelly bean eyes staring back at me.

I asked Bill if he would be interested in trying to recreate the bunny cake. He agreed and that’s how we spent yesterday morning.

Here’s a tutorial. Don’t expect miracles. I am not Ree Drummond.

I baked a two layer white cake. I chose to use a cake mix since I wasn’t sure how it would turn out. I baked it the night before and put the two layers in the freezer so they would be easier to work with….

two cakes

I cut one of the cake layers in half, and stood each half upright for the bunny’s back….

put together

 

I cut ends from the second layer, then cut them in half to use for the bunny’s head and tail….

head and tail

Bill did a lot of sculpting. I don’t remember my mom doing any sculpting…..

glued together

I iced the cake and covered it in sweetened coconut. At this point it looks like a 1956 Chevy that has been left out in a snow storm. No rabbit resemblance….

old buick snow

Aha! Add a pair of cardboard ears and the whole world changes…..

taking shape

 

A couple of toothpicks and some jelly bean eyes and nose, and you have yourself a reasonable looking rabbit. Bill constructed the white picket fence. He simply can’t stop himself…

ta da 3

The final result….

ta da 4

Nana’s Notes: I am very satisfied with my end product, but I am quite certain Mom did no sculpting, so I’m not sure how she made the head and tail. Bec and/or Dave will know, and will tell me. I also think my bunny ended up bigger than the ones we sold at the bakery. That likely has something to do with my head and tail.

 

 

Bunny Up

Posted in Recipes, Side Dishes, Whimsies by

I think Easter has gotten to be kind of a complicated holiday. Perhaps it’s because it really has become so secularized that we’ve lost our focus on what’s actually important about this holy day. But that’s perhaps a post for another time.

blast-from-the-past-4-434x603

This photo is of no one I know, but the Easter bunny is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. Just why do we do this to our children?

Easter was a pretty big deal for our family when we were growing up. This was in large part because we attended Catholic school where we weren’t allowed to forget the meaning of Easter. But we were children, after all. So there’s no denying that one of the most awesome things about Easter was our new finery.

In the 50s and early 60s, our Easter finery included a sport coat and tie for my brother (along with a fresh crew cut) and a fancy new dress for the three girls. And of course, the Easter bonnet. It was a must. For one thing, back in those days we were required to cover our heads when we entered the church. Most of the time we did this by wearing a chapel veil, which was a small round lace cloth that we pinned to the top of our heads. But on Easter, we wore a bonnet.

As a small child, Mom kept our hair short. A pixie cut, and my bangs were always crooked. As an aside, the woman who cut our hair – Fay – must have hated children, or at least cutting children’s hair. She would use a razor and hat with sashliterally yank, yank, yank at the hair. I hated getting my hair cut ALMOST as much as I hated going to our also-children-hating dentist. In fact, the first time my current hair stylist brought out a razor to cut my hair, I began screaming uncontrollably. (Not really, but I did feel compelled to tell her about my childhood experience.) But I digress.

I don’t know how my sisters felt about their short hair, but I yearned to have long hair. So when it came time to buy my Easter hat, a requirement – non-negotiable – was that it have a long grosgrain ribbon going down my back. When wearing the hat, I would swish my head back and forth so that the ribbon would sometimes flip over my shoulder, you know, like a pony tail. Pitiful, no?

glovesGloves and patent-leather shoes with white anklet socks were also a requirement with our finery. I loved wearing my white gloves. In fact, I wish women still wore gloves when they dressed up. There is nothing more elegant. One year I even had white gloves with pink flowers embroidered on them. Sigh.

When we walked into St. Bonaventure Catholic Church, it was filled with men, women, and children dressed to the hilt in similar Easter finery. We would look around to see if our friends had prettier hats and dresses than we. We would make sure we walked up the aisle in such a way that our new patent leather shoes click-click-clicked on the hard floor.

Nowadays kids mostly get the finery and forgo the church service. That makes me sad.

What has gotten complicated nowadays – at least in my opinion – is that it is another excuse to give children gifts and take children to organized activities. When I was young, we got an Easter basket and that was it. We would color the hard-boiled eggs the night before and place them in our basketrin-easter-baskets. When we awoke on Easter morning, the Easter bunny had come, filled our basket with candy, and hidden the basket – in its entirety – somewhere in the house. I’m pretty sure our Easter bunny didn’t have the patience to hide each individual egg. Our bunny was a little cranky.

We did have an Easter egg hunt, however, at Pawnee Park. For whatever reason, Grammie loved Easter. And she loved hiding the little plastic Easter eggs in the trees and bushes around this pretty park. There were no organized eggs hunts. We saw many other families doing the exact same thing. Such fun.

Then we would make our way home to another feast prepared by my mother that always included a ham and creamed potatoes.

A feast fit for a king. And fit to celebrate the Risen King.

Creamed Potatoes

Ingredients

6-7 russet potatoes, peeled and cubed

3 T. butter

1/4 c. all-purpose flour

1 t. salt

1/2 t. pepper

2 c. milk

Chives and/or parsley

Process

Place cubed potatoes in a large saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and cook until tender, approximately 15-20 min. In a separate pan, melt butter. Add flour, salt and pepper, and whisk until smooth. Gradually add milk, whisking as you pour. Bring back to a boil; cook until thickened, about 2 minutes.

Drain the potatoes and place them in a serving bowl. Pour the cream sauce over the potatoes and gently stir to coat. Sprinkle with herbs if desired.

 

Sharing Space

Posted in Main Course, Meat Dishes, Recipes, Whimsies by

jen austinBill and I began thinking of buying a house in the Phoenix area as far back as 2007. But it was my sister Jen who convinced us that the time to act was upon us in 2010. She called me up one day and said, “We are crazy if we don’t take advantage of the housing market in Phoenix and buy something. Let’s go in together.”

Hmmmm. The idea had some merit. In fact, after talking about it some more, we all decided it was a heck of a good idea. And so here we are.

While Bill and I are retired and therefore are able to spend the winter here, Jen has one of those inconvenient things called a job and, while she visits as often as she can, mostly she makes her share of the house payment and wishes she were here. It won’t always be this way.

I will admit that in the back of my mind, I have wondered how it would work if we all lived here. We tease Bill about his sister wives, but we don’t want to actually face that scenario! The answer to the question, of course, is that we don’t really know. But one thing I have witnessed is that when we have been together in this house, we get along just fine. The house, though small, is divided. If you go down one hallway, you are in the McLain wing. If you go down the other hallway, you are in the Sanchez wing. Doesn’t that sound like Downton Abbey? Never mind that the house is a mere 1,300 square feet or so. And there is no downstairs for the ladies’ maids and/or Bill’s valet. Rats. I will simply have to continue to dress myself.

Jen and I are no strangers to sharing space. That is true of all of the Gloor siblings. There are four of us, and the boy didn’t come until the end. We grew up in a house that probably wasn’t as large as our Arizona house – maybe 1,100 square feet or so. We had three bedrooms, and one bathroom. Yes, it’s true. We had a solitary bathroom in which we all had to get ready each day. And you know what? I never remember there being a problem. But it’s probably why you don’t see any of us spending a lot of time in a bathroom primping even today.

new house kitchen south west

This is the kitchen area. The little table which seated six was in that small area by the window.

A few years ago, Jen was visiting Columbus with a couple of her friends. They pulled up in front of our old house to see how it looked, and the current homeowner noticed she had a stalker. Since it was Columbus, instead of calling the police, she came out and asked if she could help them. Jen explained that she had grown up in that house and was just looking. The woman invited Jennie into the house.

Well, it was a blast from the past, that’s for sure. Jen’s take: “How in the world did the six of us ever live in such a small house? And how did Mom make

Here is the living room in which every important photo was taken.

Here is the living room in which every important photo was taken.

dinner in that tiny little kitchen? And most of all, how come I remember it being so much bigger?”

For many of my formative years, there was a double bed (not a queen-sized), and a single bed in one bedroom, in which three of us slept. The second bedroom had one bed and the inhabitant of that room changed. For a bit it was my baby brother’s nursery. When he was old enough to get out of his crib, I recall that he slept in the same room with Jen and I for a short time while Bec enjoyed her own bedroom as a teenager. I don’t think that lasted long. Once Bec left for college, Dave got his own bedroom.

So do you see the common denominator? Jen and I shared a bedroom for much of our lives, and for the bulk of the time we shared one bed. I, in fact, shared a bedroom with someone until I finally had my own apartment in Leadville when I was 22. Never spent a night without someone in a bed next to mine. I had a roommate in the dorm and again in the sorority house. Funny. I never gave it a second thought.

While all of our grandkids live in homes considerably larger than the one in which I grew up, it’s strange in this day and age that each of the three households with kids involves bedroom sharing. But the reality is if you ask the kids if they mind sharing a bedroom, they will all enthusiastically proclaim they don’t mind a bit. In fact, it makes them happy. That might change when they’re teenagers but for the time being, they are content with the arrangements.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not considering sharing a bedroom again with Jen. I’m perfectly content with my current roommate. We’re used to hearing each other snore. It’s just fun to reminisce about sharing space.

And, of course, since Easter is upon us, I’m also thinking about sharing food. Generally, whether we eat breakfast, brunch or an afternoon dinner, there is ham involved. It’s springtime after all. Ham is not my favorite food, but I enjoy it once or so a year at Easter. I buy a spiral-cut ham at Costco or the grocery store and make my own glaze.

Orange Glazed Ham

Ingredients

1/2 c. frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed

1/4 c. bourbon

3 T. Dijon mustard

6 lb. ham

whole cloves

Process

Preheat oven to 350. In medium bowl, combine orange juice concentrate, brown sugar, bourbon and mustard. Mix well and set aside. Push cloves into the ham and then pour orange juice mixture over the meat. Cover with aluminum foil, tenting it in the center so it doesn’t touch the ham. Bake at 350 for two hours, basting with the pan juices every 30 minutes. Let stand, covered, 10 minutes before serving.

Nana’s Notes: The cloves aren’t mandatory of course. I like to use them because I think they pretty it up and because my mother used them. If I’m serving the ham at a brunch, I put it out with small rolls and condiments. Yum.

Here Comes the Bride

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Wong familyOn a beautiful spring evening in a gorgeous outdoor garden, the Most Reverend (well not really, but certainly the most likeable) Bill McLain married Kacy and David Wong. Again.

As I mentioned several days ago, Kacy and David actually married several years ago in a very small ceremony in front of a justice of the peace. Saturday night, they renewed their vows in a spectacular celebration of their love. Bill McLain ably presided.

And it was a good excuse for a party.

Family and friends gathered together to hear Kacy and David renew their vows, accompanied by their three sweetie-pie daughters – Ava, Jenna, and Lexie, who served as flower girls. Well, actually it would be fair to say kacy jessie brookethat only Ava walked down the aisle sprinkling the path with rose blossoms. Lexie, who is only 1-1/2, was carried by maid-of-honor Jessie, and 3-year-old Jenna had to be coaxed from her hiding place behind the plastic plant by her Mimi (my sister-in-law Sami). And by coaxing I mean physically lifted up and carried down the aisle. Our beautiful Jenna does not like the spotlight, thank you very much.

The entire celebration was so much fun. It was informal, yet elegant. And I have to admit it’s the only wedding I have attended where the usher was 6 years old. And extraordinarily handsome. As the ceremony began, Noah’s daddy Christopher told him, “Noah, you walk Aunt Beckie down the aisle, and then you hustle back. Then you walk Aunt Kris down the aisle and you hustle back. Then you walk Aunt Jen down the aisle and you hustle back.” Well my friends, he did it masterfully. And when you’re 6, hustling back means a full-out run. Good thing he was wearing sneakers with his tux.

kacy noah

Kacy with Usher Extraordinaire Noah.

Kacy’s dress was beautiful and perfect for her tiny little self.

I’m beginning to sound like a fashion page editor and I’m not liking it one little bit. And yet I feel compelled to explain just how pretty it all was. The garden was filled with flowers and candlelight. Eventually music and laughter and food was added to the mix.

And you can call it a good day when you see my brother in a tux. And dancing with his little girl to Tim McGraw’s My Little Girl, and knowing that the words ring entirely true.

dave sami

Sami and Dave prior to the wedding.

Now it’s back to the real world for us all.

 

 

 

 

 

3 graces

Bill calls us “The Three Graces.” I think his tongue is placed firmly in his cheek.

 

Brooke, Christopher, Kacy, and Jessie. Aren't they gorgeous?

Brooke, Christopher, Kacy, and Jessie. Aren’t they gorgeous?

Saturday Smile: If These Fingers Could Talk

Posted in Whimsies by

joseph and heatherI have already mentioned that two of my grandsons had accidents during the past couple of weeks that involved visits to the Emergency Room. I found out after I posted my blog about how busy their guardian angels have been kept that our 1-year-old grandson also had a visit to the Emergency Room shortly after that of his brother following the bowling accident. Little Micah apparently stepped on broken glass with bare feet. Yikes.

But that’s not what made me smile, obviously.

Following the bowling incident, which resulted in shattered bones in the ring finger and the middle finger of his left hand above the knuckle, Joseph had a splint taped to his fingers to keep them immobile. Well, because kids heal so quickly, he got the splint removed this week.

After the splint was removed and they were at home, his mom asked him how his fingers felt. Hestock car thought for a moment, and replied, “Well, mostly they felt surprised.”

And there you have it Friends. Looking at the healing process from the perspective of a 4-1/2 year old.

Have a good weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Bartender’s Tale

Posted in Book Reviews by

searchI’m a sucker for novels that take place in the West or the Midwest – the more rural, the better. I’m also drawn to stories that take place in the 1960s, the era in which I spent my formative years and remember very well.

The Bartender’s Tale, by Ivan Doig, met these two criteria, and more. Surprisingly, I have never read anything else by Doig, who is quite prolific. Because The Bartender’s Tale is my first Doig novel, I can’t comment on whether I think this is one of his better or worse books, or whether it is written in a typical manner. But standing alone, it was a good read.

Having said this, I will tell you that I can’t remember reading a slower book. I seriously felt as though I would read and read and read, and then realize I had only read five pages. Whaaaaat? I’m not sure why, though I admit that Doig uses a lot of words to get his point across. Still, I started paying attention to whether or not a good editor would have been in order, and I decided I would miss anything an editor would have taken out.

It was like jogging in quicksand, but enjoying a great view while I ran.

There is not a lot of plot to describe. Much like the book I reviewed last week, the narrator was an adult looking back on his younger years, in this case, concentrating on the summer of 1960. Rusty has never known his mother, and his father sent him to live with his aunt and her bratty kids in Phoenix from the time he was a baby until his father seemingly inexplicably came to get him at the age of 6. He takes him to live with him in a small town in Montana. Tom Harry owns the Medicine Lodge, an old-fashioned neighborhood bar, and he and Rusty make this their home.

A lot of things happen that summer of 1960, and we are lucky enough to be introduced to some of the funniest and most likeable characters you can imagine. By the end of that summer, Rusty has made a best friend, figured out what he wants to be when he grows up, met a young historian who will change his life, learned a lot about his dad (whom he always was convinced was going to up and leave him again) and grew to trust him completely. He comes to understand the ins and outs of running a good bar and the importance of such an institution to a small town. Unlike last week’s novel, this story isn’t about a life-changing event, but more about how all of life’s events add up to make you who you are.

I measure all dialogue against Kent Haruf’s dialogue in Plainsong. Doig’s dialogue is similar in that he captures the local dialect very well (or at least it seems that he does). And it really is the dialogue, as opposed to the storyline, that drives the novel. But, where Haruf’s dialogue is succinct, Doig’s characters often seem to talk on and on. That might be the difference between being a rancher in eastern Colorado and being a bartender. Still, I loved (and will start using) the phrase “ess of a bee”.  I also will begin immediately using the phrase “don’t put beans up your nose” with my grandchildren to relay to them to stay out of trouble.

For me, the best part about The Bartender’s Tale was the story about the bar itself, and about Tom Harry as the bartender. For example:

“I needed only to stretch my neck a little to peek……..and see and hear everything as my father lived up to his reputation as the best bartender imaginable, his shirt and apron crisp as table linen, his black bow tie, lending an air of dignity, his magical hands producing a drink almost before it was thought of, his head tilted just so to take in whatever topic was being introduced on the other side of the bar.”

The Bartender’s Tale is a slow-moving story about good, kind, honest Westerners with whom I could be friends. Rusty learns a lot during that summer, but mostly he learns the importance of family and friends.

 

 

Belly Up to the Bar

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Glur's TavernMy dad and mom’s bakery in Columbus was right next door to a bar. When I was very little, the name of the bar was the B&B Lounge. Later, and for most of my time in Columbus, the bar was owned by a couple of brothers with a Polish last name ending in “ski” and the bar was cleverly named the Ski Lounge. Clever except that if you were “not from around these parts”, you might wonder why a bar in the middle of Nebraska was referred to as a ski lounge. Whatever.

Perhaps oddly, that bar was an important part of my life growing up. When we were very little, Mom and Dad would take Bec and I with them to the bar. (Jen and Dave weren’t yet the gleam in the eye that you hear about.) That might sound funny, but I assure you there was nothing odd about it whatsoever. We played with other kids that were there (mostly our cousins!). The bar was a family-friendly place. They had a popcorn

Ski Lounge, Columbus, NE. The blue building to the left was the bakery.

Ski Lounge, Columbus, NE. The blue building to the left was the bakery.

machine. You put a dime in the machine and out came popcorn into a little paper holder much like a coffee filter. I remember that we would eat the popcorn and then place the paper containers on our heads to wear as hats. Funny. It doesn’t sound like that much fun now.

The Ski Lounge also had a shuffleboard table. Bec and I learned to play shuffleboard at that very table. Now we go to Las Vegas and play high-stakes shuffleboard. Well, that last part’s not true, but we did love us some shuffleboard. I think Dad would even play with us once in a while. I can’t remember if I was any good. Probably not.

Because it was a family-friendly environment (or at least it was when I was young), they offered a variety of pop for our enjoyment. On Saturdays when we would eat our noon dinner at Grammie’s  and Grampa’s, Grammie would give each of us kids a couple of quarters to go next door to the Ski Lounge and buy ourselves an orange Nehi. I’m pretty darn sure you wouldn’t find an orange Nehi at a bar today. And the Ski Lounge wasn’t even a restaurant, just a neighborhood bar.

I’ve been thinking about bars lately because I’m reading a book (which I will review tomorrow) where bartending is the central theme. The bar in the book is a neighborhood bar that sounds much like the one I have been describing. You know, with neon signs advertising the most popular brews. (In the case of the Ski Lounge, it was Pabst Blue Ribbon, Hamms, Falstaff, Schlitz, maybe Budweiser. No Coors in those days.)

I can even recall the way the neighborhood bars smell when you walk in. The strong smell of stale beer. Sounds yucky, but it definitely wasn’t. And no matter what time it was, there was always someone sitting at the bar, right next to the big jar of pickled eggs. Probably not someone we were allowed to talk to.

I sound so nostalgic, don’t I? About a bar? I don’t guess it’s really the bar that makes me feel nostalgic, but more about the simpleness of life back then. I don’t know what the equivalent today would be for such a family outing and resulting memory. Certainly not a bar. For one thing, I’m not sure there are more than a handful of actual bars left; instead, mostly there are bars combined with restaurants. The ones that remain are probably mostly the kind that you wouldn’t want to let your kids wander into, because likely you wouldn’t even go into such a place.

I will tell you something funny, however. To this day, I like to sit at a bar and watch a good bartender work. And I don’t just mean pouring the drinks. I also mean handling the people at the bar including engaging in interesting conversation. A good bartender doesn’t really talk much – mostly listens – but makes the person with whom he or she is engaged feel like they are talking to a best friend. I could watch a good bartender all day. Especially if they pour me an especially good martini.

One last random thought about a bar. Sometime within the last couple of years, Bill and I husker-steak-housewent back to Columbus for one of my high school reunions. We ate dinner one night at the restaurant at which my family celebrated every birthday or other special occasion, a restaurant that my mom and dad went to every Saturday night of their life in Columbus. It was called, not surprisingly, Husker House.

Husker House has a bar, and it will not surprise you to learn that the bar itself is of dark wood and there are just a couple of small windows, making the atmosphere pretty dark itself. Because we were early for our reservations, we sat down in the bar area, which was pretty full of regulars. There were two bartenders, a young man and a fairly old woman – seriously, probably in her 70s. I tentatively ordered a martini from a cocktail server, keeping my fingers crossed that the young man would make the drink. No such luck. The order was given to the woman.

“I’m not hopeful about this martini,” I said to my husband.

I got the martini – Tanqueray, up with an olive – and the glass was ice cold. I took a tentative sip, and to my surprise, tasted one of the best martinis ever made by someone other than me. So much for stereotypes. She’s probably made several thousand martinis in her lifetime.

Cheers!

Little of This, Little of That

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This and ThatWe have a wedding in our family to add to the plethora of celebrations we have enjoyed while in Arizona this winter. My readers have joined us at celebrations of birthdays, anniversaries, St. Paddy’s Day, Mardi Gras, and more birthdays. It’s fun to celebrate something a bit different.

The wedding is that of my niece Kacy and her husband David. Yes, I said her husband. They actually were married in a very small ceremony a couple of years ago, but Kacy and David wanted a chance to celebrate their marriage with friends and family, so that’s what we’re doing. The marriage ceremony will be Saturday.

My brother and sister-in-law are hosting a rehearsal dinner tonight. They are calling it a rehearsal dinner because it’s a dinner following the rehearsal. In reality, it’s another excuse for a party. Lots of food and family and certainly a lot of fun.

Since my sister-in-law Sami has a lot going on with getting ready for the rehearsal dinner,Bec the wedding, working, and making the beautiful wreaths that she sells through her Etsy account, I offered to take care of desserts. She had the idea of offering a variety of small, bite-sized yummies instead of one big dessert. Well, I took her idea and ran with it.

The first thing I did was call in reinforcements. Namely, Bec and Maggie. And, of course, Pinterest. You can find anything on Pinterest. So I began “pinning” recipes for tiny little desserts of all kinds, and Bec and Maggie did the same. We found miniature cannoli and miniature baklava and miniature chocolate cream pies.  We pinned recipes for chocolate caramel pies and chocolate peanut butter cupcakes and banana cream pies. ALL THE SIZE OF A MINI CUPCAKE PAN.

Of course, our baking day – yesterday – was the hottest day of the year so far. Dangerously close to 100 degrees. Between my overworked oven and my air conditioner that hasn’t been turned on for a year, the appliances were doing a lot of huffing and puffing. I think everything is still in one piece. The oven might be the most tired.

lillyAustin and Lilly joined in the fun. Well, actually Austin spent most of the afternoon back in the bedroom in his designated “secret hideout” which, to most of us, would be under the chair. Give him a secret hideout and my Ipad and he’s happy. Lilly watched from her little chair, but every so often made it known that she was not that happy to not be the center of attention. We just kept telling her Grammie was coming for the wedding so just be patient. You will be the center very soon.

The results were awesome, if I must say so myself. Bill was the self-designated taste tester, and he gave totally of himself and tried every single variety. The man just gives and gives. I, of course, had to look but not taste because of the whole giving-up-sweets for Lent.

We received his seal of approval.

This evening we will have to set up the dessert table sometime either before the rehearsal or after, because, you see, Bill is the presider at the wedding.Maggie

He asks me to call him Pastor Bill, despite the fact that he doesn’t even have one of those internet ministerial licenses. Doesn’t need it, especially because they’re already married.

Life is definitely different from when I was young but one things stays the same.

Cannoli are scrumptious, whether they’re full sized or mini. Or so I’m told….. The whole Lent thing you know.

Nana’s Notes: We ended up with almost 450 little pieces of 11 or 12 different varieties. Yee haw.

 

 

Arizona Department of Tourism

Posted in Whimsies by

We thought when we bought the house in Arizona we would be inundated with springtime visitors. The visits have not transpired, largely because we keep forgetting that most of the people we hoped would visit have those annoying little things called JOBS.

Bec Kris SAguaro

Bec and I enjoy Saguaro Lake.

Over the past months, we talked about going here or there, but would always say, “We can do that when someone comes to see us.”

Now time is getting short here in the desert. Bill and I plan on leaving for Denver soon, hoping to arrive just before the birth of our newest grandchild. We decided it was time to think of some of the things we wanted to do and, as Nike proclaims, JUST DO IT.

Our house is smack dab in the middle of the Sonoran Desert, which boasts some of the most beautiful scenery in nature – the saguaro cactus being probably the most distinctive and I think most beautiful.  I never get tired of looking at them poking jauntily out of the clay earth on the sides of the mountains or in the desert.  While we’re located in Mesa, we don’t have to drive very far to be out in the middle of the desert, and that’s what we decided to do one day last week.

Tortilla Flat

Tortilla Flat

There’s a popular legend prevalent in this part of the state. Back in the 1800s, miner Jacob Waltz purportedly struck gold but died without telling anyone where his mine was located. There’s still supposed to be gold in them thar hills, but no one has been able to find it. (There’s probably a good reason for that, but who am I to ruin a perfectly good legend?) So every year people make their Canyon Lakeway up onto Superstition Mountain to look for the Lost Dutchman Mine. In fact, a number of people have died trying to find their way to millionaire status, most recently a man from Colorado.

Every once in a while Bill will say to me, “Let’s go find the Lost Dutchman Mine and become millionaires.” We decided instead to just drive our car over to Tortilla Flat, a tiny little tourist trap on thesteep path other side of Superstition. The drive was beautiful, with a stop at Canyon Lake along the way.

The next day we decided to make our way up to the top of Microwave Mountain, which is walking distance to our house. From the top (which involves a fairly steep climb), you can see the whole of the Superstition Mountain, as well as a panoramic view of our neighborhood, including our house. We like to do it at least once when we’re here. Jen and I have actually found a couple of geocaches along the route. And I’m pretty sure I saw the Lost Dutchman Mine from the top! Might need to make another trip back into the mountains next week.

 

 

YouDoodleDrawing

This past weekend we decided to leave the comfort of our neighborhood and make our way to where the other half lives – Scottsdale. More specifically, we went to Old Town Scottsdale and visited an Italian Festival. Quite frankly, we were disappointed in the festival, but delighted to walk around Old Scottsdale and people watch. The one highlight at the festival – this delicious pizza from Pomo Pizzaria Napoletana. Just like the pizzas we ate in Italy. The folks running the booth actually spoke to each other in Italian. Funny thing was, when they handed me my pizza, without thinking, I said, “Grazie.”

Promo pizza

 

But perhaps we saved the best for last. Yesterday, Bill and Bec and I played the ultimate tourists and took a boat tour of Saguaro Lake.

saguaro lakeWe started out with lunch on the restaurant patio overlooking the lake. After lunch, we climbed onto the tour boat, and were grateful to have upgraded our tickets to allow us to board first. As a result, we got the best seats on the boat – upper deck, right out front.  And what a ride we got. Saguaro Lake connects up with a couple of other lakes and the whole kit and caboodle includes some dams that provide water for the metro area and help us water our golf courses. Oh well.

Our tour guide/captain was entertaining, and though he undoubtedly gives the same spiel 20-plus times a week, he gave us interesting information and sounded like he was telling his stories for the first time. Our tour included sightings of hawks, mountain goats, and turkey vultures (which seemed to hang around the boat, perhaps aware that the average age of the boat’s passengers was 85 and someone could keel over at any point).

mountain goat

Can you see the mountain goats standing way at the top?

Things went fine until a gust of wind blew my empty can into the water and the people sitting next to me looked at me like I had dumped a plastic bag of empty PBR cans into the lake. I’m sorry, People! I promise I couldn’t catch it in time. I wasn’t about to dive into the water. See yesterday’s post about not being able to swim.

There are a few more things we would like to see yet before we head home, but the rest of this week will be concentrated on the upcoming wedding of my niece — a wedding over which my husband will be presiding!