Monthly Archives: February 2016

Sunny Day in Paradise

Posted in Main Course, Meat Dishes, Recipes by

Bill and I woke up yesterday morning, happy that it was Tuesday which meant we didn’t have to go to the gym, and with no particular plans for the day.

“What do you have on your schedule today?” I ask him every single morning despite the fact that I know the answer is “nothing particular” seeings as we’re retired. Although I should recall that the answer could be, “I plan to make a four-tiered lemon-and-rosemary flavored wedding cake using homemade fondant accented by the fresh roses I have been growing in the greenhouse I secretly built in the back yard.” You never know with Bill McLain. As Lucy (of Peanuts fame) would say, of all the Bill McLains in the world, he’s the Bill McLainiest.

But he didn’t surprise me, and his answer was “nothing particular.”

“Why don’t we take a field trip to Tempe, drive by Sloan Park (spring home of the Cubbies), have lunch at Portillo’s, and stop by Jo-Ann’s Fabrics so I can buy some yarn?” I said, the final part said under my breath with the hope that he stopped listening after I said lunch at Portillo’s. He had.

It has been extraordinarily nice for the past couple of weeks. I know I can’t brag too much, because I think it has been quite nice in Colorado as well, and while everyone expects it to be in the 80s in Phoenix, high 50s/low 60s in Colorado is a special treat. Still, a day doesn’t go by that I’m not grateful for the warm sunshine and the beautiful flowers. Look, for example, at the bougainvillea bush in our backyard…..

bougainvillea

When we got here a month or so ago, the bush looked like it was on its last legs. It was spindly and it had few flowers. What a difference some warm weather makes.

Anyway, the nice weather called to us, and the day was fun. There were many, many folks at Sloan Park. I think maybe the Cubs pitchers and catchers are going to report any day now, and methinks a few might have been there already, judging from the number of people with their heads plastered against the fence looking into the practice fields. We also saw a number of kids with autograph books shoved into the front drivers’ side window of an SUV with tinted windows, and I don’t think the driver was a member of the maintenance crew!

296308_440399582701934_1842813705_nPortillo’s, of course, is a wonderful family restaurant based in Chicago. In the past few years, they opened a couple of them here in the East Valley – the one very near Sloan Park (no surprise there) and another in Scottsdale, just a stone’s throw from Salt River Fields at Talking Stick, the spring home of the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Colorado Rockies.

Portillo’s has All Things Chicago, but Bill and I go for the Italian beef sandwiches every time. Bill gets his wet (which means they pour the gravy on the sandwich) with sweet peppers; I get mine dipped (which means they literally dip the entire sandwich in the gravy) with hot peppers. There are advantages and disadvantages to getting the sandwich dipped, the biggest disadvantage being IT IS A SLOPPY MESS THAT MAKES YOU FEEL AS THOUGH YOU NEED TO GO HOME AND TAKE A SHOWER.  But yummy.

One of my goals for Lent was to eat simpler. One way I thought we could do that was to serve soup one night a week. I decided last night was a good night to do that since we’d had a sizable lunch. I’ve been meaning to make my mom’s vegetable beef soup for some time now, and I took the plunge last night.

beef shanks for soup

vegetable beef soup

Here is my mom’s recipe, verbatim from her recipe card…..

 Vegetable Beef Soup, courtesy Marg Gloor

Cook 2 beef shanks in approximately 6 cups water with 1 chopped onion, 1 stalk celery, 1 c. cabbage; add parsley, salt to taste, pinch of leaf oregano, leaf thyme, and a bay leaf, also a small can of Del Monte stewed tomatoes. Cook 1 hour, then add carrots and potatoes. About 15 min. before serving, add noodles.

Nana’s Notes: I modified the recipe a bit. I browned the beef shanks in a Dutch oven, then added 6 c. water to the beef. I also added 1 chopped onion; 1 stalk celery, chopped; and the same herbs. I let that cook for about 2-1/2 hours until the meat was very tender and fell off the bone. I removed the bones and returned the cut-up meat to the liquid. I added a can of diced tomatoes, one diced potato, a couple of chopped carrots, and a can of green beans (because that’s what I had on hand). I didn’t add cabbage because I’m not supposed to eat cabbage on my new low-fiber diet. I cooked the noodles separately and added them at the end. It was very good, and the first taste made me think of Mom.

A Little Bit Country

Posted in Whimsies by

I told you in a blog post six or seven months ago that I listen only to sports radio in my car. What I have subsequently learned is that I listen to sports radio in my car mostly during football season, and mostly when I’m in Denver. In fact, I haven’t yet quite figured out which radio stations are sports stations here in AZ. We have three or four in Denver, and given the fervor of sports fans in the Phoenix area, I would assume there are several here as well.

So what I find myself listening to in its stead is country music. If you would have told me, say, 30 years ago that I would ever be listening to country music, I would have been quite surprised. I’m not sure why, because beginning in my late 20s and early 30s, I listened to a lot of music from groups like the Eagles, Poco, and Pure Prairie League, all of which are just a hair away from country music.

As I got older, I found myself listening to groups like the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. I became more and more drawn to bluegrass artists such as Alison Krauss and Rhonda Vincent. I even found I liked Johnny Cash. Yes, folks. I heard the train a’comin’. It was about then that I figured I needed a support group.

Hi, my name is Kris. (Hi Kris.) I like country music. (The first step is admitting you have a problem. And at least you can have a shot and a beer with your music.)

Now there’s almost no country music I won’t listen to.  I’m a country music ho.

Perhaps even more surprising, however, is that my sister Bec has also become a fan of country music, something I would never have thought would happen. I’m not certain, but I don’t even think it was a gradual thing for her. She simply moved to Arizona and turned on KMLE Country @107.9, and the rest is history. Thankfully, the only pickup truck in her family belongs to her son.

I like her explanation, however. She is nostalgic about the music we used to listen to when we were in high school and college. You know, love songs. Songs that told a story. Songs you could sing along with and not be embarrassed to say the words. Nowadays the music consists mostly of electronic sounds and heavy rhythm. And you can sing along, but you better not let your mom hear you.

Country singers still talk about love. Oh, it might be in the back of a pick-up truck while drinking a beer, but there’s usually a degree of romance involved. And some of the titles are clever enough to make me laugh out loud.

Take these for example…..

I’m So Miserable Without You It’s Like Having You Here (Billy Ray Cyrus)
I Still Miss You Baby But My Aim’s Getting Better (Lynn Anderson)
Money Can’t Buy Everything (But It Could Buy Me a Boat) (Chris Janson)

And my new personal favorite

You Look Like I Need a Drink (Justin Moore)

One more thought about music, however. I often say that while I can’t remember the name of my doctor, I can remember the words to every single song released in the 1960s and 70s. And they were all so innocent, I go on to say.

The other day Bill and I were having coffee at the Starbucks in our nearby grocery store and the Muzak was playing 60s music. A familiar song came on and I began singing it quietly under my breath. Suddenly, perhaps for the first time ever, I actually paid attention to the words. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m now a grandmother, but I was disgruntled.

Here are a few of the lyrics from Young Girl by Gary Puckett and the Union Gap:

Young girl, get out of my mind, my love for you is way out of line, better run girl, you’re much too young, girl. So hurry home to your mama, I’m sure she wonders where you are, get out of here before I have the time to change my mind…..

The Union Gap present day. They're old guys, just like us!

The Union Gap present day. They’re old guys, just like us!

Sigh. Maybe we weren’t so innocent.

Fur Elise

Posted in Whimsies by
bec carter kenzie singing carols

Carter, Bec, and Kenzie perform at the piano.

I took piano lessons for somewhere in the neighborhood of five years. I think I started around the age of 7, and around the age of 12 I finally persuaded my mother that the money being spent was pure, unadulterated futility as I had absolutely no talent. Oh, I could pound out a song and even memorize a few twice a year for the requisite (and greatly dreaded) recitals, but my playing was nothing special.

Bec took lessons and so did Jen. Both had more talent than I, especially Bec (who actually majored in music for about a brief time when she first started college). Mom apparently took one look at my brother Dave and threw in the towel.

We had a big upright piano that lived in our little dining room in Columbus. Given the difference in our ages, Bec would probably have been nearing the end of her lessons when I began mine. I don’t recall having to share the piano for practicing. I do, however, remember practicing. One half hour each day, Monday through Friday. Mom set a timer and started the metronome and there were no exceptions. I hated every minute. Outdoors was calling as I slaughtered a Mozart minuet.

Bec and I took lessons from our second cousin, an older woman named Isabelle (she seemed ancient, but in hindsight, she was probably 40) who was unmarried. An old maid is how the world referred to her at that time. Isabelle had attended a greatly-respected music college in St. Louis, and was well educated and quite skilled. For the most part, we only learned serious music, mostly classical. I became grateful for that later in my life, but as a 7-year-old, I would have preferred more contemporary music. Jen, who took lessons from someone else (and I frankly can’t remember why) learned music that was much more fun.

Low Res Image (65)-XL

Kaiya, not dancing…..

The result of my five years of lessons is that I can now play Für Elise by Ludwig van Beethoven. The beauty of Für Elise is that it sounds really complicated but is actually quite easy to play. From the time Kaiya was able to walk, she danced to Für Elise as I played it on my piano. She’s 7, and still does.  Lots of twirling. “Please play my dance song,” she will say.

Given a bit of practice, I can pound out Silver Bells and White Christmas at Christmastime. Please understand, however, that I can only play any of this music because of muscle memory. Though I am able to read music, I would be hard pressed to sit down and play from a new piece of sheet music.

Despite this fact, I insisted that we buy a piano when we bought our house in Denver. There is a spot that I’m convinced was designed for a piano, as our spinet fits perfectly. My plan was that I was going to once again take lessons and become somewhat proficient. That was 23 years ago, and I can still only play Für Elise. However, if I ever talked about getting rid of it, three things would happen.

First, I would have to find something to fit in a space that screams PIANO;

Second, I would have to find a different place to put the pictures of my grandkids; and

Third, the grandkids – every last one of them – would pitch a fit because they all like to sit down and pound on the keys. Addie does more than pound because she has actually taken lessons. Kaiya yearns to play, and has memorized a couple of songs that have been taught to her by Addie. The piano desperately needs tuning because, well, pounding. But I don’t get it tuned because, well, pounding. Often there are orange Cheeto fingerprints on the piano keys.

singing carols

Silver bells, it’s Christmastime in the city…..

This past Christmas, Bill and Jen and I had dinner one night at Bec’s, and she sat down at the piano and played some Christmas music. She and her grands – Kenzie and Carter – had actually prepared a Christmas Concert as a surprise for their parents and they did a round 2 for us. Singing Christmas carols around the piano brought back such wonderful memories of Christmases past. My family never failed to sing at least one round of Silver Bells and Do You Hear What I Hear? around Christmastime.

One last thought about piano lessons. My cousin Bobbie also took lessons from Isabelle, and it was abundantly clear that she got the bulk of the piano playing talent in the family. Bobbie went on to also study at that same music college in St. Louis, and plays beautifully to this day. She can play more than Für Elise.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: A Couple More Laughs

Posted in Whimsies by

Bear with me. I have a couple more Peyton Manning clips that made me laugh this week. I’ll stop now. I promise.

Jimmy Fallon makes me laugh, no matter what he does. But there’s this….

A bluegrass band out of Knoxville, Tennessee, called the Punch Brothers did their own tribute to Peyton Manning, and it’s very clever. Click on the link….

http://sportsradioknoxville.com/this-is-the-greatest-peyton-manning-tribute-song-ever-writter/

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Sound of Glass

Posted in Book Reviews by

imgresAuthor Karen White has written somewhere in the neighborhood of 20 novels. I’ve read a handful with mixed opinions. Mostly positive, I’m happy to say.

The Sound of Glass was by far my favorite to date.

Based on my somewhat limited sampling, it appears White attempts to address a fairly serious issue in each of her novels. In The Sound of Glass, she tackles the very serious subject of domestic violence. Domestic violence, of course, is a topic that makes us cringe. White’s handling was done with an adept hand and lots of grace. Her story, however, also requires a fair amount of suspension of reality. That fact doesn’t deter from the fact that this is an interesting story with likeable characters.

The primary character is Merritt, whose husband Cal, a fire fighter, recently died on the job. Much to her surprise, she learns soon after that his grandmother has left him (and so now, her) the family home in Beaufort, South Carolina. Needing a change, Merritt leaves her Maine home to move to South Carolina to take up residence and refurbish her husband’s family’s home.

Through flashbacks and conversations with others, the author weaves the tale of three generations of domestic violence survivors. In addition to that topic, however, we also are given the opportunity to meet one of my favorite characters, Merritt’s stepmother Loralee. Loralee is only five years older than Merritt, and the mother of a 10-year-old son, Merritt’s half-brother Owen. The pair shows up uninvited on Merritt’s Beaufort doorstep, and changes Merritt’s life forever.

There is romance, and a bit of mystery and characters that are hard to forget. One of the things I like best about Karen White is that her books often take place in the low country of South Carolina, and her descriptions are vivid and beautiful.

There is just enough romance to be fun, and just the right amount of mystery. I enjoyed the book very much.

Here is a link to the book.

unnamed

Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by

Hail to the Broncos
Well, the Super Bowl is over and my Broncos were the victors. I was seriously EXHAUSTED Monday. You would think that I played the game instead of Von Miller. It was fun to listen the next day to all the sports talking heads trying to back pedal and make it sound as though they knew ALL ALONG that the Broncos were going to win rather than admitting that they all thought the Panthers would leave the Broncos in their dust. Bill took down our Bronco flag, but this was our tribute to the team – Broncos in the desert….

Bronco flag in the desert

It’s Just Another Machine
Just so you don’t think making fancy cakes is Bill’s only specialty, here is a photo of him sewing the apron that we gave my sister Bec for her birthday….

Bill sewing Bec apron

Yes Doctor, I’m Afraid It’s Terminal
Speaking of Bec, she will begin her new volunteer career as a docent at the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix next week. Now, if I had read that sentence a few months ago, I would have been thinking, “what in the hell is a docent.” But, thanks to my sister, I now know that docent is another name for someone who spent an extraordinary amount of time learning everything about a museum or art gallery or zoo so that they can be a guide. She literally has spent hours and hours over the past months learning about desert plants, and it’s fun to hear her talk about them. One day she came over for dinner, and the first words out of her mouth were, “Your neighbor’s agave plant has a terminal bloom.” What? That sounds extremely serious. Should we alert the authorities? But no. What I learned is that agave plants work really hard for a whole lot of years until voila, one year they shoot up a stalk that eventually blooms. Nature takes its course, and then the bloom dies. But so does the agave plant. That was its only job. Well, that, and providing us with tequila. Here is the plant…..

terminal bloom

 

Little does it know that it’s now a goner.

Road Rally
I have mentioned before in this blog that one of the many things I like about this area is that because of all the snowbirds, er, winter visitors, there are a lot of really cool old cars. Apparently refurbishing cars is a thing with a lot of Midwestern fellows. One day Bill and I decided to have lunch at our nearby pizza place, Papa Kelsies. As we parked our car, Bill said, “There must be a gathering of historical car guys at Papa Kelsies today.” I asked him why, and he pointed to an area of the parking lot that featured a whole bunch of really cool-looking old cars. And, sure enough, there was a table of guys eating pizza and talking about their cars. Take a look at these….

cars at papa kelsies

Ciao!

40 Days

Posted in Whimsies by

I have barely put away the Christmas wrapping paper. I mean that. Just the other day I put the last roll of wrapping paper bearing the images of reindeer and Santa into my bedroom closet (which is the Place Where Everything That Doesn’t Belong in the Garage Goes to Live).

And here it is – Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent. The first of 40 days and 40 nights (or so) of sacrifice and prayer in preparation for Christ’s death and resurrection. Put away my Christmas stuff, give a brief shout-out to Valentine’s Day, and start crocheting bunnies, all within about a two week period.

Every year (as you know if you’ve been reading my blog since the beginning) I give great thought to how I’m going to live my Lent. From the time I was a little girl of 7 (the so-called Age of Reason in the Catholic Church), I have “given up” something to show God how deeply appreciative I am of Christ’s sacrifice. Because not eating chocolate and dying a painful death on the cross are so much alike.

As a little girl, I always gave up desserts. That actually wasn’t that much of a sacrifice since Mom rarely made us dessert and we always gave ourselves Sundays off. As Charlie Sheen would say, “Wow. Winning.” But that wasn’t as bad as the year that Court, probably about 10 at the time, announced he was giving up chicken for Lent. He didn’t like chicken then and isn’t a big fan now. I put the nix on that idea very quickly. That was probably the beginning of Court’s spiritual plunge.

I love the gospel of St. Matthew read at Ash Wednesday Mass.

When you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on street corners so that others may see them. When you pray, go to your inner room, close the door. And pray to your Father in secret. When you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites. They neglect their appearance so that they may appear to others to be fasting. When you fast, anoint your head and wash your face so that you may not appear to be fasting.

imagesIt gives me pause, and the reason is that I always wonder if I’m being a hypocrite when I start talking about what Big Thing I’m going to do for Lent. Perhaps I should just keep it to myself.

But I write a blog, and I’m certain you are all interested.

I recently read something on Facebook which said something like could you live in a cabin in the woods for 30 days with no access to your phone, your computer, your television, your iPad, or any other type of technology.

Pfff, I thought. Of course I could. As long as I can read a book, er, on my iPad. And as long as I can check Facebook every day (well, a few times a day). And as long as I don’t have to miss Downton Abbey or American Idol.

Ok, so maybe I couldn’t do it for 30 days, but maybe I could do it for one day. One day a week. One day a week for five weeks.

So, that’s my challenge. I am giving up all technology one day a week for Lent. I will post my blog on the Day of No Technology, but will then shut off my computer until the next morning. And my phone. And my iPad (except to read since all my books are ebooks).

And no sweets, every day, even on Sundays. For old times’ sake.

Yikes.

Keep on the Sunny Side

Posted in Recipes, Reluctant Traveler, Whimsies by

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us every day, it will brighten all our way
If we keep on the sunny side of life. — Ada Blenkhorn

When we were in Salzburg, Austria, in 2008 on our big travel adventure, we were walking to church one Sunday morning. (I kept a blog documenting our adventure and talked about our Sunday in Salzburg here.) It appeared to me that Sundays in Austria were lovely days of family, worship, and food. As we walked to church – the very church in which Mozart was baptized and played the organ – I noticed people eating their breakfasts outdoors in the morning sunshine. I saw sweet rolls, and crusty hard rolls and cups of coffee. At one point, I noticed a woman eating a plate featuring a soft boiled egg sitting in a white egg cup.

I can only imagine the deer-in-the-headlights look a server at Village Inn would get if I answered the question how would you like your eggs cooked?  by saying soft boiled.

I, of course, am very familiar with soft-boiled eggs because that was the only way my Swiss grandmother ever prepared eggs for me. Being a child, I didn’t watch how she prepared them. I only know they showed up on my plate almost too hot to touch. I learned at a very young age how to use the knife to cut off the tip of the egg so that I could reach the gooey yoke inside. I would cut my buttery toast into strips and begin dipping them into the yolks.

To this day, I love soft boiled eggs. It’s beyond Bill’s comprehension. He prefers his eggs scrambled. When I fry eggs for the two of us, he requests that his yolks be broken so they don’t run. He’s simply not a fan of runny yolk. I, on the other hand, love them. When we used to be worried that we were going to die from eating undercooked eggs, I dutifully ordered my eggs over medium. Now that we seemed to have calmed down and don’t worry about that quite as much, I prefer them poached or sunny side up. I love to have my yolk run into my potatoes. Especially when eating Huevos Rancheros. Yum.

I don’t soft-boil eggs very often, and I’m not sure why that is true. They are very easy to do, and I prefer them to scrambled eggs. But since eggs are low in fiber and high in protein, they are a great meal for me. I have to admit that an egg with a piece of white toast spread with real butter makes me feel less deprived.

soft boiled egg

Here’s how to make a perfect soft-boiled egg….

Bring a saucepan of water to a boil, and then lower the heat so that the water is just simmering. It should look sort of like club soda. Once the water is simmering, carefully drop one or two eggs into the water. Set the timer for 5 minutes. (Add a minute if you are cooking more than two eggs.) Don’t set the timer until you have put the eggs in the simmering water. When the timer goes off, remove the eggs and drop them into a cold water bath (a bowl of cold water with ice). Let them sit for a few minutes. That will make them easier to handle and make it easier to open the egg.

My grandmother had egg cups. I have them in Denver, but haven’t bought them yet here in Arizona. So I improvised using a shot glass. I also saw a photo of someone setting a soft boiled egg in a cup with uncooked rice to keep it upright. Take a sharp knife (I use a steak knife) and carefully cut off the tip of the egg. Watch for egg shells. Dip pieces of buttered toast into your egg, or use a small spoon to eat the egg. You can buy fancy spoons, but quite frankly, I use the baby spoons that my grandkids used when they were small.

How do you like your eggs?

Super Super Bowl

Posted in Main Course, Recipes, Whimsies by
Jen's dog Tucker shows his Bronco loyalty.

Jen’s dog Tucker shows his Bronco loyalty.

This post was written somewhere around noon on Sunday. Around that time, Cam Newton was practicing dabbing in the full-length mirrors in the locker room and Peyton Manning was checking to make sure his helmet was tight enough on his head to leave red marks and indentations that will still be there as he, his wife, and his twins are enjoying Disneyland. It turned out the way Bronco fans wanted, thanks to our Big D!

At the time I’m writing this post, the game is hours away. I therefore have no knowledge of which team wins. I am ever optimistic of the outcome. Well, I’m optimistic that there WILL BE an outcome. That’s about as optimistic as I get when it comes to football. When Dad would get nervous about a football game, he would move to the kitchen and play Solitaire. I will crochet.

I believe that God isn’t too worried about the Super Bowl, so in my Sunday morning prayers, I prayed that there would be no serious injuries to anyone on either team, that the fans of whichever team won would be grown up and not turn over cars or start trash can fires, and that the stadium and fans attending the game would be spared from hatred by anyone via a terrorist attack.

I will admit, however, that I did put in a little pitch for a Bronco victory. What could it

Addie, Dagny, Maggie, Alastair and Allen root for the Broncos.

Addie, Dagny, Maggie, Alastair and their Uncle Allen root for the Broncos.

hurt? After all, sunrises and sunsets – all created by God – are orange and blue and not powder blue and white.

By time you read my post, the victor will be known, and I will know if my other prayers were answered.

Even with the game hours away, I am certain about a few things. My brother David, his daughter Kacy, and her kids; my sister Bec; and my niece Maggie and her family will be here cheering on the orange and blue, and we will have fun. I am making a variety of appetizers and they are

Kaiya, Cole, and Mylee show their Bronco colors.

Kaiya, Cole, and Mylee show their Bronco colors.

bringing goodies as well, and it will all be yummy. Bill has set up a television in the back yard so that we can watch the game both outside and inside, and as the weather is expected to be in the mid-80s, it will be simply lovely.

When I decided to host the family for the Super Bowl, I began thinking about what I would serve. There are, of course, wings, which are so traditional. Nachos? Mexican food?

But Jen had just told me about something that she said was THE RAGE OF THE INTERNET. (She swears she has a job, but I think she just sits at home and peruses the web all day. She always knows what bloggers are up to at any given point in time.) However, when I looked up the recipe for the thing she said was THE RAGE OF THE INTERNET, I learned that the New York Times was calling this the roast that owns the internet. Despite the fact that it owns the internet, I hadn’t heard of it. What is it?

MISSISSIPPI POT ROAST. THE ROAST THAT OWNS THE INTERNET.

The original creator of the recipe is a woman named Robin Chapman, who apparently proclaims that the recipe has been in her family for years. I wonder if any of my family recipes could ever be THE (fill in the blank) THAT OWNS THE INTERNET. My grandmothers Swiss Mac and Cheese perhaps?

But, whether the Broncos win or lose, I will leave you with Ms. Chapman’s recipe.

Mississippi Pot Roast

Ingredients
1 chuck roast, 3 – 5 lbs.
1 packet dry Ranch dressing mix
1 packet au jus mix
1 stick butter (not margarine, butter)
5 pepperoncini peppers

Process
Layer all the ingredients in a slow cooker; cook on low for 8 – 10 hours. Shred and serve with your favorite side dish or as a filling for a sandwich.

Nana’s Notes: The roast was good. It would be yummy as a main dish with mashed potatoes or noodles. I served it shredded with crusty rolls.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Go Broncos, Beat Panthers

Posted in Whimsies by

I love being in Arizona for the winter and missing out on the piles of snow. But I will admit that I have missed being in Denver these past couple of weeks as the sports nation awaits Super Bowl 50. Jen has kept me abreast of the excitement for the most part, but it’s not the same as being there. I will tell you, however, that I have seen Bronco fans come out of the woodwork here in the Valley of the Sun as of late. Bronco jackets, Bronco shoes, Bronco hats, all things Broncos. There are either more Colorado winter visitors than I thought, or Cardinal fans are declaring their post-season loyalty since their beloved team didn’t make it as hoped.

Speaking of the Broncos, you will remember that Bill decided to bake a cake for the festivities, and decorate it using homemade (by him) fondant icing. He carefully sculpted the logo out of his fondant. Here is the final result……

Bill's cake

Here is my personal tribute to the team (and my nail technician definitely looked at me oddly……

20160206_062101_resized

And while it appears to be All Things Cam in preparation for the big event, this photo appeared on my Facebook feed, and it made me smile. He may be a football player, but at the end of the day, Peyton is a dad.

Peyton with his son Marshall.

Peyton with his son Marshall.

Have a great weekend, and GO BRONCOS!