Monthly Archives: August 2015

Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by

Gone, But Not Forgotten
Whenever my siblings have been visiting, it’s always so quiet when they leave. It’s not, of course, that they are boisterous or demand a lot of activity. It’s just that Bill and I live a very quiet (read, dull) life. So as soon as Bec pulled away from our house yesterday morning to head back home to Arizona, the quietness settled around me. As is typical of all visitors, Bec forgot a few things: the cherries and grapes she had bought to eat on the road, her water bottle, and other things that we will discover over the next few days. The worst thing that any of my siblings ever forgot was the time that my brother visited with his kids over some school break and they left our house for home at the crack of dawn, forgetting to take the school books they had brought along to study. They made it to Colorado Springs before they had to turn around and come back.

Tick Tock
Bill continues to work on the playhouse. He assures me he is almost finished. Today he is putting up the siding. I have been joking with him that if we ever have a tornado, I’m going to go to the playhouse because it is most assuredly built stronger than the house in which we live. You know, homes built in the 70s and all……

Law and Order
This past Friday, Jen had to take Bec to the emergency room for a non-life-threatening situation involving her hearing aid (growing old is not for wimps), which, while not a bit dangerous, had to be taken care of. Unfortunately, the need didn’t arise until 10:30 that night, after they had both been going to bed. Off they went, and the situation was handled. As they were driving back home, Jen noticed flashing red and blue lights behind her. She pulled over, assuming the lights would speed by her, but ooooooh no; instead, a cop got out of the car and began walking over to Jen’s car. “Hello,” he said to Jen. “How are things going tonight?” “Not so good,” Jen assured the police officer. “We are just returning from a trip to the emergency room where I took my sister.” After checking to make sure Bec was breathing, he asked Jen if she realized that she had stopped her car at the last stoplight in the pedestrian walking area. Remember, it is past midnight at this point. As you can imagine, pedestrians abounded. Not. “No Officer, I didn’t,” Jen told him. He took her information, and then informed the perp that he needed to go check for outstanding warrants. Egads. Jen told him her alias was Grammie. (Not really, but seriously? Two grandmas wearing almost pajamas?) I’m happy to tell you there were no outstanding warrants. When they got home, Jen admitted two things to Bec. The first is that prior to the hearing aid situation arising, Jen had taken two Advil PMs. The second is that she hadn’t brought her cell phone with her. Since Bec learned while in the emergency room that her phone was nearly dead, if they had needed to have to place that one allowed phone call, they would have had to use Jen’s IPAD to Facetime BJ. Since then, Bill and I have both been cognizant that we nearly always stop in the pedestrian area. Little did we know that there is a police officer in Fort Collins who is enforcing the law one grandmother at a time.

Batter Up
Addie softballI was all set to settle into my recliner yesterday evening to watch the news and perhaps catch up on some shows we have recorded. Suddenly my telephone dinged. A text message from Addie. “Are you coming to my softball game tonight?” Well of course I am, since you asked. How could I possibly say no? So following a dinner involving gyros, Bill and I headed north a couple of miles to watch Addie play ball. We didn’t stay for much of the game, but got to see Addie up at bat one time. She hit the ball, but was tagged out at first base. Well, at least she got a hit, I said to Bill. No she didn’t, he answered. Apparently if you are tagged out at first, it isn’t counted as a hit. Hmmmpf. That’s a stupid rule, and she got a hit in my book. Apparently she got a hit that even her papa would accept later in the game, and the team went on to win, coming back from a 10 point deficit.

Ciao.

Live Life Like You Were Dyin’

Posted in Whimsies by

And I loved deeper
And I spoke sweeter
And I watched an eagle as it was flyin’
And he said, Someday I hope you get the chance
To live like you were dyin’ (written by Tim Nichols, Craig Michael Wiseman, recorded by Tim McGraw)

At first it seems like a macabre thought – to live like you are dying. And yet, at the end of the day, that is what we should be doing every single day. The reality is, my friends, that we never know what lies ahead.

Mclains

L-R: Dagny, Nana, Maggie Faith, Allen, Alastair

Our family has had somewhat of a difficult summer. One daughter-in-law lost her father; another has had to undergo surgery; yet another lost her beloved aunt and her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. I, of course, spent much of July suffering from a painful neck, which – after one thing led to another — resulted in four days in the hospital. Bill’s kids lost a much-loved uncle and my family lost a dear aunt. All-in-all, we were all quite content to say goodbye to July. Bring on the rest of summer!

But here’s the thing that makes me proud of my family – both immediate and extended. No one spent much time wallowing in pity. Instead, Monday night – the night before breast surgery – we celebrated over food and wine and lemonades and martinis.

My daughter-in-law Jll’s sister Julie can be thanked for putting the celebration together. It was time, she said in her email, to “kick off August and celebrate the good stuff.”

And celebrate we certainly did. Our four McLain grandkids (aka the cousins) looked freshly scrubbed and very gussied up as they arrived at the restaurant. Dagny, who celebrates her 9th birthday in a few days, proudly sat by the sign that said Happy Birthday in big, colorful letters.  Her Aunt Julie gave her the privilege of picking out the appetizers for the table. She chose beef carpaccio and grilled artichokes. Yes, I said she was turning 9. Unfortunately, the restaurant was out of artichokes so she made do with a pepperoni pizza. Who wouldn’t? And she ordered beef tenderloin, medium rare. The server literally did a double-take. By the way, she ate every bite.

Dagny's beef tenderloin

She ate the whole thing, but did give me her asparagus.

I’m sorry that Jll’s mother and my friend has to go through what she will go through in the weeks ahead. Her prognosis, I’m happy to say, is excellent. But what an inspiration that she chose to spend a night of fun, food, and plain joy prior to her surgery. What’s the use of being sad? God will bring us what he brings us.

Bec and I pose with Dagny.

Bec and I pose with Dagny.

We never know what tomorrow will bring, so live life like you are dying.

 

Pickled

Posted in Whimsies by

Every year without fail I put up at least one batch of dill pickles. I occasionally will make jelly or can tomatoes. I have been known to make dilly beans as well. But the pickles I do each year.

And each year when I make my pickles, I tell people – either by word of mouth or via my blog – just how darned EASY it is to put up pickles, and why-oh-why don’t more people do it. I’m actually quite, well, smug about it. Look at me. I make homemade pickles. Ma Ingalls (of Little House on the Prairie fame) and I and could be BFFs. We could sit around and quilt and talk about pickling recipes and how much butter we were going to churn this week.

This year I went one step further and actually grew my fresh dill. I began making noise about going to the Farm Store to buy pickling cucumbers since my dill was ready to pick. It didn’t happen, however, because I went instead to the hospital. Choices, choices….

By time I got out of the hospital, my dill was starting to look sad. So despite the fact that I didn’t feel that great, and despite the fact that my body was still working its way back to normal (a process that’s taking longer than I expected), a week ago I went to the Farm Store and bought four pounds of pickling cucumbers. When I got home, I washed them, put them in a big bowl of ice water, and placed them in the fridge to chill overnight. In the meantime, I went out to my garden and picked my long sprigs of dill, and put them in a vase of water to stay fresh until the next day when I would do my pickling.

So, the next day, I began the process of putting up the pickles. The process involves sterilizing the jars and lids, carefully washing and cutting the cucumbers, putting the spices (including mustard seeds, garlic, and red pepper flakes) in the sterilized jars, preparing the pickling brine, bringing my massive canning pot full of water to a rolling boil, filling the jars with the cut cucumbers, making sure the rims of the jars are clean, closing the jars, and placing the jars in the boiling water.

Perhaps it was because I wasn’t feeling tip top, but at some point during this process it occurred to me that pickling isn’t actually all that darn easy. It isn’t, of course, rocket science, but it is time consuming and somewhat tedious. Nevertheless, for reasons I don’t quite understand myself, I LOVE doing it. I generally don’t eat a single pickle; instead, I give them all to my brother Dave or my nephew Erik. But it is really something I enjoy doing.

I had just gotten the jars of cucumbers into the pot of boiling water to begin the process that results in the sealing of the jars. I began wiping the stove and the countertops with a rag. I turned around to place the rag in the sink, and suddenly saw my vase full of dill.

“I’ll be a f*****g son of a b***h,” I said quite loudly. I’m not proud of dillthis.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bill, who happened to be taking a break from building the playhouse-that-will-never-be-finished.

“I forgot to put the dill in my dill pickles,” I said.

“Can you add the dill now?” Bill asked.

Nope, you really can’t, because by this point it’s basically a chemical process that involves the heat creating a vacuum so that the jars can be sealed.

pickle jars

Look! No dill.

So I finished the processing and will be offering dill-less dill pickles this season. All that remains is for me to come up with a quirky name. Any suggestions? How about Killer Dave’s No Dill Dill Pickles?

I thought I might be able to get away with it. Kaiya spotted my jars of pickles the other day and asked if she could have one. I handed one to her. She ate it, but didn’t seem thrilled.

“These taste like sweet pickles,” she said, “and I like dill pickles.”

Well don’t we all.

I had a few little cucumbers left and didn’t want to throw them away. Instead, I made a small batch of my Aunt Leona’s refrigerator pickles, or what she called her Frozen Cuke Salad.

leonas refrigerator picklesFrozen Cuke Salad, courtesy Leona Micek

2 qt. sliced cukes
2 T. salt

Mix and refrigerate 2 hours. Drain and rinse.

Make syrup: Bring to boil..
½ c. vinegar
1-1/2 c. sugar
Onion to taste
Green and red pepper to taste
Parsley (optional)

Cool syrup slightly and pour over cukes. Refrigerate another 24 hours. Put in containers and freeze.

Leona’s Note: We prefer to keep in frig and eat.

Nana’s Notes: Me too!

 

Shingles

Posted in Whimsies by

“Would you like a piece of toast for breakfast?” I asked Bill one day last week.

“Sure, sounds good,” he answered.

So I got out a couple of pieces of the high-fiber bread that the nurse practitioner had suggested I eat as part of my effort towards a high-fiber diet in light of my recent health situation. He highly recommended the bread. Killer Dave’s Bread, he called it. He said it was his absolute favorite bread. In fact, it is actually called Dave’s Killer Bread. We purchased it last week from Costco, two loaves shrink-wrapped together in the old familiar Costco way – designed for big families.

I toasted two slices, smeared cream cheese on Bill’s, and carefully dotted the bread with his favorite grape jelly. He took a bite without looking up from his Ipad.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand.

“Hmmmm,” he finally said. “I could use this bread as siding for the playhouse.”

And so he could. Sorry Jeff-the-nurse-practitioner. The bread tastes like a shingle.

I took a bite of my own toast smeared with peanut butter. I chewed……………and chewed………….and chewed some more. My friends, I am simply not cut out for a high-fiber diet.

And yet I must learn. Because I don’t want to end up in the hospital simply because I am opposed to eating shingles.

Honestly, it’s not accurate to say I’m not cut out for a high-fiber diet. I like lots of things that are high in fiber. In fact, in 2011 following my surgery, I had to eat a low-fiber diet for a period of time, and I found it really difficult. I love most vegetables and nearly all fruits. I put a tablespoon of Benefiber in my coffee each morning. I can’t quite stomach whole wheat pasta no matter how animated Rachael Ray gets about it, but I do buy the high-fiber white pasta.

20150731_085457But when it comes to bread, I want bread and not shingles. I want my bread – at least my sandwich bread – to be fluffy and not weigh nearly the same as a brick. There you have it. I’m a child of Wonder Bread – Builds Strong Bodies 12 Ways. If it was good enough for Captain Kangaroo, why it’s good enough for this baby boomer.

As for the bread I recently purchased from Costco, I have decided that in fact it should be called Killer Dave’s Bread, since it is liable to do just that. One loaf is in the freezer. The other I will give an ample ol’ college try. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. That’s what Killer Dave says anyway.

 

Saturday Smile: An 80-Year-Old Burst of Energy

Posted in Whimsies by

My mom and dad were happily married just a couple of years shy of 50, cut short only by my mother’s death in 1995. Her death knocked Dad for a loop, even though it was not unexpected. He simply wasn’t cut out to live by himself.

A couple of years after Mom died, Dad met Shirley. She was the receptionist at his eye doctor’s office. They struck up a relationship. If he had set out to find someone who was the polar opposite of my mom, he couldn’t have been more successful. My mom was somewhat of an introvert and it took a while for her to make friends. She was kind of quiet until she was comfortable with you. Her taste in clothes and home decorations were subtle.

On the other hand, Shirley has never met a stranger. She lives life to its fullest. She laughs easily and heartily. She wears bright colors and jewelry that makes a statement. She will tell you what she’s thinking.

shirley birthday dinner

Their relationship took our family by storm. A storm, I’m afraid, for which we were quite unprepared. And speaking only for myself, a storm that I didn’t handle very well. What up, Dad? I want my mommy.

As the years went by, everything settled down. We all witnessed Shirley’s kind and loving nature. She cared lovingly for my Dad even as he got more and more ill. I never heard her complain, and she made him laugh until the end.

It struck me somewhere along the line that up in heaven, my mother said, “Hmmm. While I might not have done it that way, you are making him happy and I’m grateful that he is being so well cared for.”

shirley dad shotsey

This dynamic woman turned 80 last week, and having her in my life makes me smile. Happy birthday Shirley!