Monthly Archives: August 2015

Sports Talk

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football playsLast year when Bec and her two grands were out visiting us in Colorado, we were driving in my car to Estes Park where we were going to go hiking and give Mackenzie and Carter their first taste of snow, present even in the summer on Trail Ridge Road.

As we drove along, Mackenzie said, “Aunt Kris, why don’t you have music playing on the radio?” She was right, of course. No music. I almost never listen to music on the radio. She and Carter, on the other hand, are used to music always playing on car radios whether they’re with their dad – my nephew Erik – their mother Josey, or their nana. They, like my grandkids Joseph and Micah, know the words to I Can’t Feel My Face and Shut Up and Dance With Me.

Don’t get me wrong. I like music. I like a lot of different kinds of music. I enjoy much of the contemporary music; country music pleases me a great deal; when I’m in Bill’s car (which has Sirius radio), I often listen to bluegrass.

But when I’m tooling around in my yellow bug, I listen to nothing but sports talk radio. Go figure.

I mostly like it when I’m in Denver and it’s football season. Then it’s all Broncos, all the time. Or at least all football, all the time. But let’s face it — Colorado is Bronco Country. The sports guys find a way to talk about the Broncos all year long.

Oh, they try to talk about basketball and hockey when the Nuggets and the Avalanche are playing. But there’s simply not a lot you can say about the Rockies once you have mentioned that they have the worst record in MLB.

But I will be honest with you. I have even found the sports talk stations in Arizona. It’s true I can’t listen to Dan Patrick and the Danettes when I’m in Arizona, but I can always find some kind of sports talk. And Sirius has all sorts of sports stations. It’s a good alternative to bluegrass when I get tired of listening to banjo music.

I can tell you for sure that I am not the demographic for whom their programs are aimed. The fact that there are approximately 750 commercials every hour dealing with ED (which, if you listened to sports talk radio, you would know means erectile dysfunction, which apparently is the most serious problem facing the United States of America today. Stop worrying about the terrorists. We have bigger problems, people!).

I can also tell you that there are a lot of double entendre with subsequent, well, giggling, that goes on when a group of men get together to discuss sports. Or likely anything else.

Finally, it is absolutely mind blowing to me how long the sports guys can spend talking about any issue. Seriously, they can spend an easy morning talking about why the Broncos practiced without pads earlier that day.

Nevertheless, I am absolutely riveted to the radio as they talk about coaching styles and play action and the benefits of a shotgun quarterback v. a read option quarterback. I don’t always know what they are talking about. That’s when I call or text Court for interpretations and explanations.

“Hi Son. It’s Mom. Do you think signing Evan Mathis was a good idea since our offensive line is so young or do you think there is a reason that the Eagles didn’t sign him again? Dan Patrick doesn’t think he left the Eagles because of money,” I say to Court.

“Mom, I just left a meeting to take your call because I thought you were going to tell me one of my kids had fallen from the new playhouse and was getting stitches in the head. Do you think we could talk about this later?” replies Court, trying oh-so-hard to be patient.

My brother always says that listening to baseball on the radio is like meditation for him. He finds it relaxing and it calms him. That’s kind of the way all sports talk radio is for me, even with the serious issue about erectile dysfunction (which apparently, according to the advertisements, causes wives all sorts of angst). I’m telling you people, if you or a loved one has any concerns about his performance in the bedroom, give me a call. Discretion is guaranteed.

 

Saturday Smile: Look Who’s a Bandido

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The school attended by Kaiya and Mylee — Willow Creek Elementary — offers lunch that you might choose to buy on any given day. Wednesday is pizza day, and therefore the one day that both girls want to buy lunch. I mean, PIZZA. The process is that each child has a number, and they give the number to the lunchroom person, and the money is then taken from that child’s account.

Kaiya, who is in second grade, is used to this process. It’s, of course, all new to Mylee, who just started kindergarten. Last Wednesday morning when Court and I had breakfast, he told me Mylee was going to buy lunch for the first time. He expressed concern that she certainly didn’t have her account number memorized as did her sister, so he wasn’t sure how it was going to work.

That evening, I texted him and asked how things went with Mylee’s lunch. Here is the text I got back from him….

Well, she ate. She didn’t give them her name or number though so we’re pretty sure she stole it.

What can I say? Mylee’s a perp……

I'd say this sweet little face doesn't remind me of a bandido, but looks can be deceiving....

I’d say this sweet little face doesn’t remind me of a bandido, but looks can be deceiving….

And speaking of sweet little faces, here is a photo of Joseph’s first day of school in Montpelier…..

Joseph first day school 2015

He looks as happy as the other grands did on their first day of school. Go figure.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Beach House

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searchI’ve read a series of rather dark and violently graphic mystery novels lately, so Mary Alice Monroe’s wonderful low country novel The Beach House was a welcome relief.

The author was recommended to me by someone who knew I enjoyed novels that take place in the south, and especially in the low country of South Carolina. I have enjoyed authors such as Dorothea Benton Frank and Karen White, and it pleases me to no end to become acquainted with another.

Cara Rutledge left home at age 18, eager to be away from her abusive father and the mother who seemed unwilling to provide any help or support. She makes a good life for herself in Chicago. But suddenly her life is in turmoil when she loses her job and her boyfriend in one fell swoop. A letter from her mother asking her to come home and repair their relationship is welcomed.

The story line itself is somewhat predictable, but in a laid-back low country way. The reader is swept up into the soft, slow, wonderful life in a beach house on an island off the coast of Charleston — Isle of Palms. You feel yourself relax and you taste the fresh crabs and the sweetness of shrimp caught just before eaten.

I’m not giving anything away when I tell you that Cara’s mom is dying of cancer. The reader learns of her imminent demise early on. Normally I feel betrayed by books in which a beloved character dies. In The Beach House, however, Cara’s mother Lovey is at peace with her diagnosis, making it less devastating and a part of whole story.

The side story is about the birth cycle of the loggerhead sea turtles, which Lovey and her island friends have watched and help manage for many years. I learned a lot about the sea turtles and found that side story interesting rather than distracting.

There is the inevitable love story, but I found it enchanting rather than sugary sweet. And of course you can’t have a novel about the barrier islands without a hurricane. Monroe does a nice telling of the details around the hurricane. Her characters were memorable and I wanted to spend time with them all. And I definitely want to own a beach house on Isle of Palms.

I will be eager to read more stories by this author.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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It’s Enough to Raise My Blood Pressure
I went to the doctor Tuesday – a follow-up appointment to a follow-up appointment. My doctors must feel quite guilty about not seeing me when I was having my neck pain issue which eventually led to me being hospitalized because man-oh-man, are they ever being diligent about following up on every little thing. This time they were following up on a concern about my blood pressure (which I realize isn’t a “little thing”). But, as invariably happens, my blood pressure, which hovers around 150/75 when I take it at home, was 110/60. Seriously? I mean, I guess that’s good news, but whose blood pressure is lower when they go to the doctor’s? Mine, I guess. Of course, when I went to the specialist yesterday about my arthritis, my neck felt fine but my blood pressure was high. Sigh.

I Weigh the Same as I Weighed in High School
Since being at my doctor’s office last, they have moved to fancy new digs. Because the move only took place a few weeks ago, they are still having a few issues – where did we put our bandages, which examining room belongs to which doctor, where on earth did I put Mrs. Beauchamp, and so forth. In their former office, they had one of those old-school scales that you stand on and move the little doohickey until it balances. It seemed to work fine. But in an effort to be enviably high-tech, they now have a scale in each examining room, and it is a fancy-dancy digital scale. Except in the room where the medical assistant took me, she couldn’t get the scale to work. It wasn’t some high-tech problem. She simply couldn’t get the AA battery to not fall out when she put the scale on the ground. She tried five or six times to no avail. She finally turned to me and said (and I promise this is true), “Do you know how much you weigh?” Well OF COURSE I do. I weigh 105 lbs! And, by the way, I’m 5’7” tall. Just kidding. I actually told her the truth. But I’m not telling you. And this situation is further proof that old-school is often still the best.

Should My Quarterback Be Able to Feel His Fingers?
I was watching the sports news the other day, and learned an unsettling fact: In a press conference, Peyton Manning told us he has no feeling in the Peyton with glovefingers of his throwing hand. He apparently hasn’t since his neck surgery a couple of years ago but never mentioned it. At least not to me. I find that troubling. Whether your quarterback is throwing from the shotgun, dropping back and tossing from the pocket, or rolling out and throwing a shovel pass, I WANT MY QUARTERBACK TO BE ABLE TO FEEL HIS FINGERS. Apparently that is why he so often wears gloves. And here I thought he was just making a fashion statement.

Half Empty
And speaking of the Broncos, Court – much to my dismay – is predicting a winning Bronco season but not a Super Bowl run. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, as they say. I go into every season assuming we aren’t going to win a single game. The truth of the matter is that I sort of wish we would have a good season with lots of really good games, but not make a run for the Super Bowl. It sort of takes the fun out of watching football, or at least it did last year. Of course, Court’s prediction could have something to do with the fact that Peyton can’t feel his fingers. I wonder if he can feel his face.

Ciao.

I Can’t Feel My Face

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searchLast week when we were driving back to Montpelier following our whale watching experience in Portsmouth, NH, Bill turned on the radio in an attempt to keep Joseph and Micah invested in something other than the fact that their parents’ cell phones were not available to them because they were charging. It was a long drive, people.

Anyway, Bill turned on Sirius Radio’s pop station, which plays the top five or 10 popular songs over and over and over and over and over and over again. At least when I was a teenager we had the top 40. It took a bit longer before your parents’ heads would explode.

Anyway, at some point I noticed the boys were singing along with the music. I wasn’t too surprised to hear Joseph sing because he’s 6, and he rode on a bus full of kids, including teenagers, to camp every day for six weeks this summer. Undoubtedly, pop music was being played. But I noticed that Micah, who turned 3 on August 17, was also singing along. It was the middle of one of the songs, and I thought he had just picked up on the chorus because ( must I tell you?) THAT BOY IS SMART.

But then the next song came on and I realized he was singing along with the songs from the get-go. How does that happen, I wondered. How does a 3 year old memorize the words to popular songs?

There isn’t an answer except the obvious one. While I would have thought that both Heather and Lauren listened to nothing but National Public Radio, they must have actually been playing songs on the car radio such as the catchy I Can’t Feel My Face When I’m With You. Micah really loved that particular song, and could belt out the complicated chorus…

I can’t feel my face when I’m with you
But I love it, but I love it, oh.
I can’t feel my face when I’m with you
But I love it, but I love it, oh.
I can’t feel my face when I’m with you
But I love it, but I love it, oh.
I can’t feel my face when I’m with you
But I love it, but I love it, oh.

Bill and I were laughing about the boys singing when we got back to Denver. I wonder what that means, I asked Bill. Why can’t he feel his face when he’s with her? Bill admitted he had no idea, so he googled it. Well.

It turns out that the reason he can’t feel his face has little – if anything – to do with being with his girlfriend. Instead, he can’t feel his face because he’s high as a kite on cocaine. His face is numb because he is jacked up on coke. (Not to be confused with Jack and Coke, mind you.)

I suddenly wanted to take my little Micah and hold him in my arms, beggingimage him not to sing anymore. At least not to sing songs he hears on top 20 radio stations. I’m happy to add that this little man, who loves music more than any child I have ever known, is incredibly partial to B.B. King, and can quickly find his favorite B.B. King song on Spotify. That would be One Shoe Blues. Please don’t tell me that B.B. King can’t find his shoe because he’s jacked up on cocaine. It will break my heart.

While there were undoubtedly songs about drugs when I was in high school, I checked the top songs of 1972, which included Lean on Me, I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing (In Perfect Harmony), Morning Has Broken (which we now sing in church for heaven’s sake) and Betcha By Golly, Wow. All of these artists could feel their face. Or if they couldn’t, at least they didn’t sing about it.

Man, I sound old.

Cool at Night

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Indian summer is on its way
It’s cool at night and hot all day
Ain’t no black clouds filled with rain
Santa Ana wind blew them all to Maine. — Written by Kelly Jones, performed by Poco

According to Wikipedia, Indian summer is a period of unseasonably warm, dry weather that sometimes occurs in autumn in the Northern Hemisphere. The US National Weather Service defines this as weather conditions that are sunny and clear with above normal temperatures, occurring late-September to mid-November. It is usually described as occurring after a killing frost.

Well, I don’t really care what the definition of Indian Summer is according to Wikipedia, because in my book, Indian Summer begins just as soon as the days are still hot but the nights are cool. When I need to put on an extra blanket at night if my window is open, why then it’s Indian Summer. That’s what the country rock group Poco told me back in 1977, with the release of their song Indian Summer off their album by the same name.

And, by the way, under the rare circumstances when I hear the song, I am immediately transported back to the University of Colorado and I am 24 years old. But I digress.

It might not yet be Indian Summer — either by Wikipedia’s definition or Poco’s — but man-oh-man, you can feel it coming. It’s in the air.

Court told me on Sunday that September is his favorite month. I know exactly what he means. While I don’t love that the days are getting shorter, I do love that the nights are getting cooler. While I don’t love that my petunias are looking leggy and I keep forgetting to water them, I do love that the tomatoes are starting to ripen and I have been able to eat some of my homegrown jalapenos. While I don’t love that seeing my grandkids is mostly limited to weekends because they are all back or almost back in school, I do love that down to each and every last one, they were all excited for school to start.

Can you tell?………………………………

addie first day of school 2015

Addie starts 7th grade.

Alastair starts 5th grade; Dagny starts 4th grade; Maggie Faith starts 2nd grade.

Kaiya starts 2nd grade.

Kaiya starts 2nd grade.

Mylee starts kindergarten.

Mylee starts kindergarten.

Indian Summer aside, I will tell you that there was never a year – not a single year – that I looked forward to being back in school. I disliked school from kindergarten through graduate school. Even getting new crayons and the smell of the mimeographed papers we were given on the first day didn’t offset my reluctance to hear the school bells ring that first time. But at least we didn’t start until after Labor Day. So, while I’m delighted they are happy to be back, I will miss seeing as much of the grandkids as I did this summer.

1378403626000-NUP-156962-1336-rAs I said, I understand why Court likes September. I think fall is my favorite season. I love the changing colors. Jen and I always make a trip in the fall to listen to the elk bugle in Rocky Mountain National Park, and this year Bec will be joining us. And, of course, there’s football. If you are a sports fan at all, you can’t help but get excited at hearing Carrie Underwood sing about waitin’ all day for Sunday night. And if you can boast the fact that your major league baseball team is the very worst in the United States, you can’t help but be ready for some football.

If only winter didn’t follow fall. Still, it’s hard to complain when you spend the bulk of winter in Arizona!

Living Bread

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Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. – John 6:35

searchFor the past few weeks, the Catholic church took a break from the allegedly written-on-a-deadline Gospel of St. Mark to hear St. John’s discourse on the bread of life. Our gospel reading concluded at yesterday’s Mass, and I must admit the final part of that section of John’s gospel gives me a great deal of peace.

I’m going out on a limb with today’s blog post because it is not my goal to alienate any of my readers. I respect all of the different ways that people worship God. Still, Catholic Christians are very often belittled by other Christian faiths for our beliefs, and it seems like yesterday’s reading from John’s gospel provides some background on one of our most important teachings.

In his homily our pastor pointed out that Jesus tells his friends “I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst…..Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.”

In yesterday’s conclusion of the discourse on the bread of life, Jesus asks the people, “Does this shock you? The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.”

And it was true, because at that point a number of his followers stormed off in disgust. And, as our pastor pointed out, Jesus did nothing to try and dissuade them from leaving. He clearly did not say anything like, “Come back friends. I am not speaking literally. Everything I’ve just said is symbolic.” Instead, he let them leave. He turned to his closest friends and asked them, “Do you also want to leave?” They assured him that they were there until the bitter end because, as Peter said, “You have the words of eternal life.”

As Mylee would say, “Ta da!”

It doesn’t shock me that people have trouble believing that the bread and wine in which we partake every Sunday at Mass is the living body and blood of Christ. That concept is beyond our understanding. In fact, many Catholics, including those partaking in Holy Communion each Sunday, struggle with this idea. What really is surprising when you think about it is that even people like me who believe in our church’s teaching on transubstantiation take it so for granted. If my feeble little brain could really understand this mystery that our church teaches, at each Mass when the priest holds up the host and the wine, I should literally be falling to a prone position as the living God is raised before me. Instead, I pay attention as the priest blesses the bread and wine, and then my mind might wander to what time the Broncos are playing.

No matter what you believe about Holy Communion, it is comforting to know that God cares for us as he did the Israelites in the desert when he fed them with manna.

As an aside, yesterday’s conclusion to St. John’s bread of life discourse was accompanied by that ever-popular letter of St. Paul in which he tells women to submit to their husbands. For the most part, homilists avoid that one like the plague. Oh Paul. The good news is that it was offset by the beautiful words from the Old Testament Book of Joshua in which Joshua tells the Israelites, “If it does not please you to serve the Lord, decide today whom you will serve……As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.

So, as for me and my family, we will serve the Lord. Amen. Alleluia.

 

Saturday Smile: Bus Ride

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Micah sitting busMontpelier has a circulator bus. It is a free ride that makes its way around the town, stopping at places such as the state Capitol, the grocery stores, and the community college. The entire ride takes about an hour. There is a stop right in front of Heather and Lauren’s house.

On Thursday, I told Micah if he was good, I would take him on the bus after his nap. When I went to get him from his nap, literally the first words out of his mouth were, “Can we go on the bus now?”

Heck yeah!

We waited on the front porch for about 45 minutes before the bus made its appearance. We boarded the bus and got ourselves settled. As soon as the bus started rolling, Micah began singing — full-voiced —

The wheels of the bus go round-and-round, round-and-round, round-and-round…..

Join in everybody!

The bus driver, who had probably made the circular trip around Montpelier 150 times that day, didn’t even crack a smile. The woman sitting behind us, however, laughed out loud. So did I.

For the entire hour, Micah sat and watched Montpelier go by. Asking many questions.

Micah bus

A few more pictures, just for fun…..

Papa and Micah are working hard in the sandbox.

Joseph enjoys a cinnamon sugar donut for breakfast.

Bill and I walked into our house last night about 9:30. We had a wonderful visit to Vermont. But there’s no place like home.

Have a wonderful weekend.

 

Friday Book Whimsy: Murder at the Breakers

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imgresI’m a nut about historical fiction, so when I came across the first in a mystery series about life among the rich and famous in late 19th century America, I was hooked. Murder at the Breakers, by Alyssa Maxwell, is easy mystery reading at its best.

Fictional protagonist Emma Cross is a second or third cousin to New York industrialist Cornelius Vanderbilt. Her parents have moved abroad to be artists and have left Emma in the hands of the Vanderbilt family. While fairly distantly related, she is considered a member of the family and invited to all social activities among the rich who have their vacation homes in Newport, RI. The Vanderbilt home is called the Breakers.

The Breakers actually exists, and was really the vacation home of the Vanderbilt family in the late 19th Century. In fact, many of the rich New York Industrialists had homes in this area, so the fictional series is set in fact.

In this novel, Emma is attending the coming out party of the daughter of Cornelius and Alice Vanderbilt – a party that is documented to have actually taken place. However, in this fictional story, Mr. Vanderbilt’s financial advisor is murdered. Emma’s brother is found drunk and passed out in the bedroom from which the murdered financier was pushed, and quickly becomes Suspect No. 1.

Emma sets out to prove that her brother was not the murderer, and comes across a variety of interesting characters in the process.

The story reminded me much of Rhys Bowen’s fun “Her Royal Spyness” series in which the protagonist is 34th or 35th in line to become Queen of England. The main characters are alike in that, while distantly related to royalty (actual or perceived), they are nearly paupers. The series are both fairly light-hearted mysteries with elements of romance.

I recommend Murder at the Breakers to anyone who is a fan of mysteries but not interested in dark and sinister storylines. I found the book highly entertaining, despite the fact that I figured out the perpetrator early on in the book. But, after all, I read A LOT of mysteries.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Grave Matter
imageWhen we walk from Heather’s house to downtown Montpelier, we pass an old cemetery. It’s very small and the graves are very old. I like to create stories around interesting things, so in my imagination, these are graves of soldiers from the War Between the States (which is what New Englanders call the Civil War; southerners, on the other hand, refer to it as the War of Northern Aggression). Apparently Vermont had a strong presence in the fighting of the Civil War. The stones in this cemetery are those old, very flat markers that make me think about ghosts and people arising from out of the grave. Many of the deaths occurred in the 1860s, so I might be right.

Little Grocers
imageI mentioned in yesterday’s post that there are no chains in Montpelier. I’m not talking simply fast food chains; I mean there are no chain restaurants, retail establishments, grocery stores…..nothing. All locally owned. While that adds to the cost of your purchases, it’s very cool that  Vermonters are supporting Vermonters. There’s a little grocery store about two blocks from the house that sells beer and pop and a small amount of grocery items. Just like the little Mom-and-Pop stores in Columbus, where I grew up, there is also a meat counter where you can buy sandwich meats and a few other meat products. They make delicious sandwiches. As I waited yesterday for our sandwiches to be made, I wandered around the store a bit. I noticed many of their products were from Vermont. For example, the only ice cream they sell is Ben & Jerry’s.

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And the only cheese they sell is Cabot….

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Nothin’ wrong with that.

Sweatin’
I grew up in Nebraska where summertime means hot and humid. But I guess I’ve lived in the dry western climate long enough that sweating almost as soon as you step outside is new to me. There are good and bad things about humidity. The lawns are lush and green without the need to water. On the other hand, the mosquitoes are big enough to carry Micah off with them. Every evening he informs me, “I have a mosquito bite on my butt.” What has particularly come as a surprise to me is how long it takes things to dry. At home, I wet my hair in the morning and in 10 or 15 minutes, it’s dry. Here, it might take all morning. But my skin is moist, even if I do have mosquito bites on my butt.

Imagination
While Joseph and Micah like technology as much as the next kid, it pleases me to no end how much they enjoy make-believe games and playing outside. Yesterday morning, after we returned from a trip to the crepe restaurant, the two boys turned on the water and spent an hour-and-a-half washing their wiggle cars — and getting themselve soaking wet in the process. That’s the beauty of being a grandparent. I have the responsibility of keeping them safe while their parents are at work. But keeping them dry — nope. Have at it boys.

Ciao.