We had a quiet and extremely nice Thanksgiving, full of food and family. The food part was a joint effort between Court and Alyx, Jen, and me. We had turkey and all the fixins’.

We got started early in the morning with the turkey (and when I say we, I mean Bill)….

When Tom Turkey was golden brown, Bill did his typically masterful job at carving….

Cole was the star of the show….

And it was fun to have Taylor at our table this year….

While I’m used to a Thanksgiving meal with legions of family, our quiet Thanksgiving brought a smile to my face.

For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, because it is consecrated by the word of God and prayer.                 1 Timothy 4, 4-5

Little pilgrim girl Dagny.

Unlike many families, we have never made a habit of going around the table prior to Thanksgiving dinner and saying what we are thankful for this past year. Don’t get me wrong; I think it’s a lovely tradition and a clear reminder as to why we are gathering with family and friends over mounds of food. We’ve just never done it.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not giving thought to the things that have transpired over the past year that bring me joy and for which I give thanks. My gifts, in fact, are so plentiful that I am forcing myself to limit this blog post to just three things for which I am grateful in 2014…

Grand Blessings

As I thought about three things for which I am thankful, I tried to be a bit creative. If you’ve followed my blog at all, you already know how important my family is to me. So, creative or not, I simply can’t talk about my gifts without talking about my grandkids.

Throughout the past year or so that I’ve been writing my blog, I have talked about all of my grandkids – from 20-year-old Taylor (remember the Cutco knives?) all the way down to 6-1/2 month old Cole (pictured recently with his dad’s old stuffed friend Muttsy). In between are (in order of age) Adelaide, Alastair, Dagny, Magnolia, Kaiya, Joseph, Mylee, and Micah. I’m in love with them all.

In particular, I am happy that Taylor, after floundering a bit while trying to decide what he wanted to do after high school, has found some direction. He is blossoming at cosmetology school! I couldn’t be happier (and I promise it’s not just so that I will save money on haircuts).

Addie is taking Hamilton Middle School by storm; Joseph has embraced

Kaiya, Magnolia, Dagny, and Mylee help me decorate my angel tree early this year.

kindergarten and learned to ride a bike; Magnolia and Kaiya are learning to read and write in first grade; Alastair’s building robots in Lego Camp; Dagny brushes herself off after falling off the monkey bars or missing a jump in the informal cheerleading group she and some friends have formed – she’s the one who gets tossed into the air (no surprise there); and Mylee and Micah continue to be the family clowns. As for Cole, well he’s just the cutest thing on God’s earth. My heart melts when he smiles.

Get ready to duck – here comes a cliché….there is no love like the love you feel for your grandchildren.

Our Greatest Gift

In 2009, Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. Yuck. I have mentioned before – many times, in fact – that he has handled his diagnosis with such grace and dignity that it makes me tear up just to write those two words. Once, before he was officially diagnosed, as we discussed Parkinson’s as a possibility, he said, “Well, that would suck.” That, my friends, is literally the one and only time he has ever even remotely complained.

His progression has been blessedly slow. Almost a year ago, a medication was added to what he refers to as his “cocktail” that has been simply miraculous. A year later, he still seems to be functioning at a normal, or at least nearly normal, level. He visits his neurologist in a couple of weeks for confirmation. In the meantime, we are thankful – almost unspeakably thankful – for every day that he is feeling so healthy.

Nana’s Whimsies

I absolutely love writing this blog every day. People who don’t enjoy writing can’t imagine how I can feel that way. I love it because it is a way to connect with old friends and meet new friends. Nana’s Whimsies has put me in contact with cousins I haven’t spoken to in many years. Writing every day gives me something to do beyond being a wife, mother, or grandmother. I love being all of those things, but beyond that I am grateful to be using a gift that God gave to me.

Thank you for reading Nana’s Whimsies and for helping me to gain readership. I have a readership goal in mind, and upon reaching that goal, I am going to try and figure out how to make a bit of money doing this thing that I love so much. Every time you visit my blog, “share” my blog, “like” my blog on Facebook,  or tell your friends, my readership grows. Thanks for your help.

And there you have it my friends – three things that have brought me joy in 2014.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

Every year, it’s the same. On Monday before Thanksgiving, I do my shopping for my Thanksgiving meal. I always concentrate very hard so that I remember to get everything so that I don’t have to go back into the fray. Every year, I am confident that it will be my only shopping trip before Thanksgiving.

The first last grocery shop, Bec always calls it. She, of course, is completely right.

This year, as other years, I told Bill that I am going to reeeeeeeally concentrate on my list and get every single thing I need. I am certain it will be my only grocery shop. He looked up from his reading and said with absolute certainty, “No it won’t.”

“No, I’m really sure this year I can do it,” I said.

By 3 o’clock on Monday afternoon, I had already gone to the grocery store twice more after my first last shop. King Soopers didn’t have the turkey wings I need for my make-ahead gravy so that necessitated a trip to Safeway, and then later in the afternoon I realized I needed gasoline and was 8 points ($8) short of getting 20 cents off each gallon. That meant, of course, that I had to go buy a minimum of $8 worth of groceries. Because I was so thorough with my Thanksgiving grocery list, I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed to buy for our dinner. So I bought a couple of steaks that I threw in the freezer. Steaks never go to waste.

And, if you’re counting, I’m already on my third last grocery shop.

Well, it’s now Tuesday morning, and I can’t think of a single thing I don’t have for my Thanksgiving meal. Of course, I haven’t started preparing it yet. But I’m certain, CERTAIN, I TELL YOU, that I will not have to go to the grocery store any more this week.

And that’s a good thing, too, because at 10 o’clock on Monday morning, the shoppers were already getting cuckoo and the aisles were nearly unmanageable because of a deluge of shopping carts. And I must also tell you that at 10:10 a.m. on the Monday before Thanksgiving, King Soopers was already out of Jimmy Dean pork sausage unless I was willing to muddle the purity of Mom’s Sausage Dressing with maple-syrup- or sage-flavored pork sausage.

My mother just rolled over in her grave. Don’t worry Mom, I found another brand. It will be fine. Nobody will notice the added wood fiber.

When at last I finished filling my basket, I got into line and began my perusing of the magazine covers which tell me every single thing I need to know about Kim Kardashian (whose gossip seems to be centered around her derriere), Jennifer Aniston (elope with him for heaven’s sake Jennifer; you’re not getting any younger), and Princess Kate (who apparently is having to put up with a snarky queen; perhaps Elizabeth is just cranky because she’s had to put up with 88 years of hairspray).

The only disconcerting moment came when I realized that the “Sexiest Man Alive” as designated by People Magazine was someone I had never heard of in my life. Chris Hemsworth. And I simply can’t believe he is really the sexiest man alive. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not all that and a bag of chips.

This….

Chris Hemsworth

Or….

Pierce Brosnan

But alas, no one asked me.

Many small children have some sort of item that they sleep with or that comforts them when they’re sad.

My son Court had a stuffed dog that he received when he was still a baby. It slept with him every night. When his dad and I divorced, instead of requiring him to drag Muttsy back and forth to both houses, we bought a second Muttsy. I understand that would not work for some kids, but it did for Court.

As a result, he ended up with two very ratty lookalike dogs, both named Muttsy.

Recently, I came across both Muttsys hidden away — one in my cedar chest, one in a chest of drawers in our guest room. I showed them to his daughters Kaiya and Mylee, and they loved seeing the animal that had kept their dad company in his youth. So I sent the Muttsys home with them.

The other day I saw this photo of 6-month-old Cole with his dad’s favorite stuffed animal, and it definitely made me smile.

Have a good weekend.

I’m a big fan of murder mysteries, some which include plenty of violence. And I just got finished reading (and reviewing) Ken Follett’s sex-filled Edge of Eternity. I was ready for a change of pace.

I found my change of pace in a lovely, simple story told by author Mary Curran Hackett. Hackett’s Proof of Angels will make you look at the people in your life – both those you know and those you might meet as you go about your day – in a different light.

In Proof of Angels, firefighter Sean Mcgee finds himself facing death while battling a terrible home fire in Los Angeles. Unable to find his way to safety on the top floor of the burning home, Mcgee has nearly resigned himself to his horrible fate. If only he could have one more chance to mend some broken ties, he thinks, he would make things right with many people. Most important, he would apologize to a woman he deserted years before without telling her why.

And then he is given a second chance to mend those ties by what he, though not a religious man, understands to be an angel.This feeling of hope is contrary to all of the emotions he has held in check for many years.

No surprise — Hackett’s lovely story offers no proof of angels as the book’s title promises. What her story does provide is a new way at looking at your life and those people – real, live people – who are angels in their own ways.

During his fight to recover, Mcgee meets a variety of people who become friends and make him realize the importance of relationships in maintaining human dignity. They also make him think about what comes after death and who and what are really important to him.

I have not read Hackett’s first book, Proof of Heaven, and if I have any complaint about this book, it is that the author seems to presume we have read that first book. I knew a bit about that book, so I wasn’t completely at a loss. Still, Hackett made references that were lost on me. Mcgee is the uncle of the main character in Proof of Heaven and apparently played a key role in that book.

Proof of Angels would be a lovely book to read over the holidays, providing the reader an opportunity to pay attention to his or her blessings, and really seeing the angels that are among us, as well as heavenly angels that we encounter daily.

Buy Proof of Angels from Amazon here.

Buy Proof of Angels from Barnes and Noble here.

Buy Proof of Angels from Tattered Cover here.

Buy Proof of Angels from Changing Hands here.

This is how I thought my first day back in Denver after a month or so in Arizona was going to go…..

I would wake up late from a really sound sleep because I sleep so much better when the room is cool and I can have heavy blankets. I would make coffee, post my blog, and read my very good mystery novel. Then we would go to the gym and work out. Later, I would have sushi lunch with our son Court. In the afternoon, I would snuggle into my chair under a blanket and catch up on a lot of my programs.

My car, friends, had other ideas.

You might recall that last year, shortly after returning from our winter in Arizona, my 2003 Volkswagen Beetle decided to die a sudden death while I was stopped at one of the busiest intersections in the Denver metro area. That particular car escapade ended up involving AAA and several police departments (it’s amazing what happens when you call 911), and ultimately ended in the purchase of a new battery (seems like it should have had a more sensational conclusion, but alas, a battery was all I needed).

So while I was gratified to see that my car started immediately upon trying it after we got home from this most recent Arizona trip, I was disgruntled to then see the FLASHING radiator light accompanied by a piercing alarm. Not good, I brilliantly concluded.

But, Bill added radiator fluid and the problem seemed solved, at least temporarily. The flashing red light stopped. Perhaps a teeny tiny leak somewhere which could be fixed at my convenience.

Yesterday morning, after waking from my good slumber, we determined it was FAR TOO COLD to work out. Clearly, we are looking for any excuse. Instead, we drove the car over to Einsteins for breakfast. It again started right up, and no flashing red light. I was quite content. We ate our bagels and returned to the car.

Here’s where my day’s plans went awry. The car was absolutely dead. The battery wouldn’t even make that forlorn click click click sound. It was just dead. My head nearly exploded, because well, see above. A NEW BATTERY.

I called AAA. “Hi Kris,” they said. “What’s that little yellow bugger doing to you now?”

Just kidding, but I wouldn’t have been surprised. We are practically on a first-name basis.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that I had a full 10 minutes on hold to plan what I intended to say to the dispatcher when he answered, as soon as I heard his voice, my brain became a complete blank.

I remembered my name and could read the customer number off of the card. I even remembered the model and make of my car. That was it. And when my brain goes blank, I err on the side of giving too much information. Useless information.

“Um, my husband and I drove my car over to Einsteins this morning for a bagel,” I began. I’m sure his eyes were rolling back into his head. Please don’t tell me what kind of bagel, he was thinking. “The car started fine this morning, but when I tried to start it again after our bagel, it wouldn’t start. It wouldn’t even make that click click click noise that it usually makes when your battery is low.”

The next question was an obvious one for which I should have been prepared.

“What is the address where you are located?” he asked me.

Oh boy. I began frantically looking for an address, to no avail.

“I’m at an Einsteins on Hampden,” I said. Hampden’s a very long street.

“Are you at Hampden and Tower Road?” he asked me through gritted teeth.

“Oh no. That’s in Aurora. I’m in Denver,” I said. “I’m right next to a Chipotle.”

Oh. That’s helpful as there are only ten thousand Chipotle’s in Denver.

I’m happy to say that by this time, Bill, who had been yanking and pulling and pushing on cables and tubing and wires under my hood, managed to get the car started. He just didn’t know exactly how.

Now, $700 later, I successfully got the car fixed. Turns out I needed new brakes and some sort of radiator doohickey (though the word “doohickey” implies a quick-and-easy fix instead of the $700 thingamajig they actually installed).

As for the problem with the car not starting: apparently the service man simply yanked and pulled and pushed on the correct cable and fixed that problem after a $122 diagnostic. Bill’s work was considerably cheaper. But the service guy probably actually knows what he was doing.

Maybe I’ll get to that book today.

A couple of years ago, one lovely spring evening while in AZ Bill and I decided to walk over to the nearby Chinese restaurant. Our neighbor’s garage door was open, and Bill, being the friendly guy he is, greeted our neighbor who was in his garage with a cheerful, “Hello.” I was focused on our walk and didn’t greet the neighbor or even look over at the garage. I find as I age, it’s a good idea for me to be on the lookout for rocks on the sidewalk which invariably trip me.

We walked along a bit further and Bill was kind of quiet. Finally, he said to me, “Hmmm, that was kind of weird.”

“What was weird, Honey?” I asked innocently, not knowing my life as an Arizona neighbor was about to change.

“Jack wasn’t wearing any clothes,” Bill replied. The names have been changed to protect – well, they’ve just been changed, that’s all.

“What do you mean ‘he wasn’t wearing any clothes?’ You mean he was shirtless?” I asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Bill said. “I mean he wasn’t wearing any clothes.”

We walked on in silence.

But it wasn’t over. When we were seated in the restaurant, Bill went on. “But you want to know something weird?”

As if our neighbor hanging out in his garage wearing what he was born in wasn’t weird enough.

“He had on a baseball cap,” Bill solemnly declared.

Okay, so here’s the thing.  I can scarcely imagine a scenario under which I would go into our garage sans clothing. But I ASSURE you there is absolutely NO circumstance under which I would go into the garage naked if the door is open.  Having said that, I have to tell you it’s the hat that threw me.

Let’s say he just disrobed in preparation for a shower, and realized that they were out of toilet paper and he had planned on, well, you know. So he grabbed a baseball cap because he didn’t want to go into the garage completely naked? Because it seems to me that one simply can’t be running around the house without a stitch on but wearing a Arizona Cardinals baseball cap. So the hat had to be put on just prior to going out to the garage. Why?

Could our neighbors possibly be nudists?

Subsequent to that day, there have been no sightings in which our neighbor has been in his garage completely naked.  However…… HOWEVER….

I am sorry to report that he has taken to wearing nothing but a pair of thong underwear while working in his garage. Nothing else. No cap.No shirt. Just the thongs. My brother’s theory is that his wife has told him he MUST WEAR AT LEAST A PAIR OF UNDERWEAR when working in the garage with the door open.

“Yes dear,” he said, and put on his pair of blue thongs. She was thinking boxers.

I’m no prude (as I have mentioned) and I am in total support of people’s privacy. If he and Mrs. Naked-As-Jaybirds want to disrobe from the moment they get home from work until they leave the next morning, well, feel free to do so (and feeling free seems to be what he does best). But please, PLEASE, put on clothes when you are working in your garage with the door open. And by clothes, I mean something that does more than barely cover your baseball equipment.

I frankly can think of nothing more to say. And I’m pretty sure our homeowners’ covenants don’t cover this particular issue. Cover. Get it?