Saturday Smile: Boris Karloff?

The other day, Bill was messing around with his old Ford Escape (which serves as our second car while in AZ). He rolled down all of the windows in order to be able to hear something he wanted to hear when the engine was running. When he attempted rolling the windows back up, one of them — the back passenger window — refused to budge. He spent a long time trying to fix it, but finally gave up. Well, being Bill, he didn’t give up altogether; he only gave up until he can get a new part. He proceeded to order said part.

“Tell Mark and Maggie that I am having the part sent to their house,” he instructed me. As you will recall, we are heading back to Denver; however, we will return for one week late in May so that Bill can finish up his dental work here. And apparently fix his car.

I asked him the name of the company from which the part would come.

“Discount Auto Body Parts,” he told me.

Here is what my text said….Bill ordered something from Discount Body Parts. He had it sent to your house. Hope that’s okay.

It wasn’t until later that I noticed what my text said. The funny thing is, neither Mark nor Maggie said a word. Apparently Bill’s hobbies are so random and unpredictable that it didn’t surprise them a bit that he was busily re-creating Frankenstein’s monster in our back yard. Or maybe fiddling with organ transplants. You never know with Bill McLain.

bill in mask 2015 - Copy

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Silent Wife

imgresI guess in order for me to enjoy a book, I have to like at least one of the characters. And try as I might, there was literally not a single character I liked. I’m pretty sure that’s what author A.S.A. Harrison intended, but it didn’t work for me.

The Silent Wife, like many books about husbands, wives, abuse, and craziness, has been compared to Gone Girl. I wish publishers and book marketers would stop doing that. Gone Girl stands alone in making the reader make a surprised and horrified gasp at the end of the book. Even if the tension in The Silent Wife was similar to that in Gone Girl, it can’t be compared because the author tells you from the get-go that the husband is killed and the wife is a murderer.

Todd and Jodi are common-law husband and wife. They have a beautiful condo overlooking Lake Michigan in Chicago. Life seems perfect, except that it isn’t. Todd, it seems, is a serial philanderer and Jodi lives her life in denial. While Todd’s life seems to be spiraling out of control, Jodi is convinced that everything is hunky dory.

I truly wanted to slap them both. He, for being hoodwinked by a money-hungry college girl and she for putting up with his shenanigans and eagerly awaiting his return. Seriously?

The main characters of Gone Girl were also not the most likable of characters, but the book had such a creepy and interesting story, that I just couldn’t stop turning the pages. And oh, that ending….

On the other hand, I really found nothing interesting enough about The Silent Wife to make up for the unlikable characters and annoying story line.

I can’t recommend this book at all.

Here is a link to the book.

unnamed

Thursday Thoughts

Family Ties
Yesterday’s post about my parents generated quite a few comments, especially from some of my cousins. They spoke highly of my parents and indicated they were role models to them as they grew up. It pleased me to no end to read their comments, but I wasn’t surprised. For one thing, since my mother was the youngest of very many children, some of her nieces and nephews were actually the same age – or close to it – of my parents. And while I have talked about what good parents they were, I haven’t really mentioned how much fun they would be as friends. They loved to gather as family and they always had a good time. Lots of food. Lots of beer. Lots of laughing. I hope that someday when my nieces and nephews are asked about their old Aunt Kris, they will speak as highly of me as do my parents’ nieces and nephews. And their kids will say, “Really? Crabby Aunt Kris used to be fun?”

Dirty Knees
12654409_10207398882149154_4459618242284937385_n
And speaking of nephews, my great-nephew Austin made me laugh Tuesday night. Bill and I stopped by to watch a little bit of his baseball game because it was close to our house. He is 5, and whatever league he’s in (pee wee? Little League?) gives each child so many swings before they’re called out. It’s more than three, but fewer than 10. I wasn’t counting. At any rate, after four or five swings, Austin got a hit. A nice one that went straight down the middle of the field into the outfield. Now, if you’ve ever watched 5-year-olds play baseball, you know that if the ball makes it even a foot past second base, it theoretically could be a home run for all of the fielding the little ones are able to do. In this league, the player can only run one base. So off Austin went, towards first base. He made it too, of course, and in grand style. Because even though the ball was on the other side of the field while three or four of the kids were trying to pick it up, Austin did a perfect SLIDE INTO FIRST BASE. It’s all about getting your baseball pants dirty. Ask the big leaguers.

Pinterest and Me
If you peruse Pinterest, you know that every day Pinterest sends you “pins” in which it thinks you might be interested. Particularly, when you “pin” something, Pinterest then begins sending you pin after pin after pin related to whatever you originally pinned. If I pin a recipe for pot roast, I understand why Pinterest begins suggesting a variety of pot roast recipes. But I never fail to be amused at the items that Pinterest decides I like. For example, for reasons I can’t quite understand, Pinterest has decided that I like coconut cream pie, and as such, posts every recipe known to man for coconut cream pie. I, in fact, don’t like coconut cream pie. I recently started a folder in which I put low fiber food recipes since I am now limiting the amount of fiber I eat to attempt to prevent bowel obstructions. Pinterest has decided that I am interested in health food, and every day I wake up to find pins on vegetable smoothies and paleo meals and organic gardening. They encourage me to eat Brussel sprouts in every way imaginable, and particularly seem to be promoting blueberry anything. Nothing low fiber, I might add, since they undoubtedly think no one in their right mind would eat low fiber. They might be right.

Goodbye Arizona
We are mostly packed up and will leave for Denver tomorrow. First stop, Flagstaff, where we will watch our niece Jessie present her Capstone project, the last stop before graduation. We will leave Saturday morning for Denver and Rocky Mountain high snow….

Ciao!

Humble and Kind

Hold the door, say please, say thank you/Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie/I know you got mountains to climb but always stay humble and kind/When the dreams you’re dreamin’ come to you/When the work you put in is realized/Let yourself feel the pride but always stay humble and kind. – Sung by Tim McGraw, lyrics by Lori McKenna

Humble and Kind, a song off of country artist Tim McGraw’s newest album Damn Country Music, has been playing regularly on the country music station I prefer when I’m listening to the radio in my car. I want to say two things about this song: First, I literally can’t listen to the song without crying despite the fact that it isn’t a sad song; and second, every time I listen to it – EVERY SINGLE TIME – I think of my mom and dad.

Yesterday was Dad’s birthday. He would have been 90 years old. It was, by the way, also Shakespeare’s birthday (he would have been 452) and one of my good friends, Lynne Scates’ birthday (whose age, even if I knew it, would remain a secret. Suffice it to say, considerably less than 452.)

So yesterday morning, Jen sent me a text. Happy birthday to our dad today. I’ve been thinking about him all month. Send me a favorite memory or thought about Dad today. Mine is riding our bikes out to the cabin once or twice every summer.

ReinieI, of course, have lots of good memories of Dad, but my favorite will always be the one about which I have spoken here on this blog before – when I took baby Kaiya to visit him and despite the fact that she ALWAYS cried when others held her, she sat quietly on his lap staring intently at him while he whispered to her. I can’t even write those words without crying.

Anyway, back to Humble and Kind. Mom and Dad taught us lots of things. Mom taught us to cook. Dad taught Dave to bake. They taught us all to love family and football and good food and God, and demonstrated to us the importance of hard work.

But man, if I didn’t remember anything else that mom and dad taught us, I would not forget how they stressed us to be humble and kind.

You’re no better than anyone else, I remember my mother telling me any time she felt that I was getting a little too big for my britches. But she always added, And nobody else is better than you. Her point? We are all equal in the eyes of God.

Their rules were simple. Don’t steal, don’t cheat, and don’t lie. Just like the words of the song.

Here’s how Jen ended her text: We are the only four people on earth that had him for a dad. That was a blessing.

Indeed.

I would love reactions to this song, and any memories any of you might have of Mom and Dad. I know they read this blog and it would be a great birthday gift to Dad!

Here is Tim McGraw’s performance of the song. And I don’t feel so bad because Tim McGraw said he cried during every take.

Boil It Up

Every year my sister Bec has a Mardi Gras party at her house – not on Fat Tuesday since many of her loved ones still work hard for their money and aren’t available during the week. Instead, traditionally she has it on the Sunday before Fat Tuesday (Pleasantly Plump Sunday?).

This year the party didn’t happen on either Pleasantly Plump Sunday or Fat Tuesday, the primary reason being that this year the Super Bowl was held the Sunday before Fat Tuesday. And we all know what transpired on that day…..THE BRONCOS KICKED US SOME BOOTY AND MADE CAM RETHINK HIS DABBING. And by dabbing, I’m talking about the dance and not about what Mom does to get fresh stains out of tablecloths.

She postponed the party, and every time she would begin talking about an alternate date, something would come up. Bill and I went to Denver. Erik and Josey were tied up with something or other. So our family never got our Cajun fix.

We thought that would be reversed Saturday as Bec and Bill and I went to the Southwest Cajun Festival held in Chandler. And as an aside, that community does love itself some festivals – the Great American BBQ and Beer Festival, the Ostrich Festival, the Chandler Chuck Wagon Cookoff, Cinco de Mayo (which features the ever-popular Chihuahua races), on and on and on. The town government must have determined that the amount of money these festivals bring in offsets any additional money spent on police and fire protection or Chihuahua control. Or else they just like to have a hell of a good time.

Anyway, like all good festivals, we had to stand in line to prove we were of drinking age, stand in line to get the ensuing wrist band, stand in line to purchase tickets for drinks, and of course stand in line to purchase food. Being a Cajun festival, there were a surprising number of unexpected Cajun restaurants. I say surprising because suddenly BBQ restaurants were Cajun/BBQ and Mexican restaurants were Cajun/Mexican. In fact, what appeared to us to be one of the few actual Cajun restaurants had a line that rivaled that of a new iPhone release, and it went on ALL DAY LONG. So we settled for a Cajun/BBQ restaurant and ended up with pretty darn good po’ boy fish sandwiches served with red beans and rice. That’s Cajun, right, cher?

Jessie shows Lexie and Jenna how to have some fun in the bayou.

Jessie shows Lexie and Jenna how to have some fun in the bayou.

We settled in to listen to some music, when suddenly I look up to see my niece Jessie walking towards us. Jessie graduates from the University of Northern Arizona in a couple of weeks, but she assured us that she has, for all intents and purposes, checked out. Mentally, if not physically. We’ve all been there. Nevertheless, I thought she would be in Flagstaff.

She was there with her sister Kacy, and suddenly it was a party. And when Bec’s son Erik and daughter-in-law Josey showed up a bit later, it was not only a party, but a family reunion. Who knew?

While our po’ boy sandwich scratched the itch for Cajun food a bit, it didn’t take away the itch for me altogether. And apparently it didn’t for Bec either, because suddenly, in the middle of a set of music that was more blues than Cajun, she said, “Voila!” (Well, she didn’t exactly say voila, but I’m using that term to emphasize the lightbulb that went on over her head.) “If you guys come over on Monday, I will do a little shrimp boil.”

And so we did, and so she did.

Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Kate and Jade prepare to eat some shrimp at the shrimp boil.

Kate and Jade prepare to eat some shrimp at the shrimp boil.

Yum.

Yum.

boil food

Love Me Tender

I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. – Jesus

Love one another. That was Jesus’ simple instruction to his friends. Loving one another – as he loved them – was how others would know they were his followers.

And while he said that to Peter and James and John and the others in a variety of ways, he says the same thing to us every single day. As I love you, so you should love one another.

It isn’t complicated, but it sure isn’t always easy.

Our homilist used a Flannery O’Connor quote to give his interpretation of the gospel. It is a typical Flannery O’Connor idea, cloaked in darkness and wrapped in confusing spirituality.

In the absence of faith, we govern by tenderness. And tenderness leads to the gas chamber.

What? How can tenderness lead to the gas chamber? Oh, Flannery….

I did some follow-up research on this because the notion of tenderness is so appealing that it was beyond me to understand how that could lead to anything as awful as a gas chamber.

Here’s how I finally wrapped my head around the notion, if not exactly embracing it. I substituted the word tenderness with the word compassion. And I can understand how someone who supposedly has really good intentions could think it was compassionate to end the life of, say, a mentally handicapped person.

Her point? Tenderness must go hand-in-hand with faith.

Not wanting to wallow in the darkness of the brilliant O’Connor, I chose to look, instead, at a good example of loving others as Christ loves us.

There is an usher at the church we attend in Mesa. I don’t know how long he has been an usher, but at least for as long as we have attended that church – since 2010. He takes his role very seriously, and I mean that in a good way. He cares for the people who attend “his” 9 o’clock Mass, especially the seniors. He assists them to their seats and makes sure their walkers are where they can see them. He makes sure that each of them receives communion without having to leave their seats. If he sees anyone (and he always does) leaving the church during Mass, he makes sure they are okay. He greets all of us and smiles at everyone. At the end of Mass, he makes sure the seniors are reunited with their walkers.

Our usher is an example of someone loving others in the same way that Christ loves us. I think that he displays tenderness coupled entirely with faith.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Pop!

You know what Pop Rocks candy is, don’t you? Pop Rocks are little pieces of carbonated candy that, when you put them in your mouth, pop and fizz. Personally, I never liked them much, but I’m kind of a Twizzlers or Hot Tamales kind of gal when it comes to non-chocolate type of candy.

Anyway, recently 2-year-old Lilly had her first experience with Pop Rock Candy. She is game to do anything her brother either does himself or tells her to do. He is her big brother after all.

What he recently told her to do was try Pop Rocks…..

Honestly, her transformation from total shock to surprise at the sweet treat makes me laugh every time I watch this video.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Dimestore

searchThe best thing about this book was the title.

I love southern writers in general. I like reading books that take place in the south. I’m particularly drawn to the Appalachian area of southwestern Virginia and West Virginia. So I should love author Lee Smith.

It’s not fair of me to say I don’t, as I have only tried to read one of her novels. I say tried because I was unsuccessful. Fair and Tender Ladies – a novel told in the form of letters – simply didn’t grab my attention, and so I abandoned book.

But I was drawn to her memoir – told in a series of essays – one hundred percent because of its title. I grew up in a town that had not one, but two, dimestores, and I loved them both.

I didn’t love Smith’s memoir Dimestore quite as much as I loved dimestores themselves.

As I mentioned, what I am calling a memoir is actually a series of essays in which Smith tells us about her life as she grew up in the small Appalachian community of Grundy, Virginia, and beyond. Her father owned the local dimestore. For non-baby-boomers, dimestores were small versions of Walmart. You could find a little bit of a lot of things for a low price.

It’s true that I enjoyed the earlier essays more than the later essays because I loved hearing about her life growing up in southwestern Virginia in the late 40s and early 50s. I could relate, though my small town experience was in the Midwest. Let’s face it; small town America in the 50s was small town America in the 50s, no matter where you were. You could watch Dobie Gillis and the Mickey Mouse Club anywhere that had television reception. You could go out and play all day long without your parents arranging play dates.

I enjoyed the later essays a bit less because they were more about her experiences after college.  Smith actually spent the last couple of years of high school at a boarding school in Richmond, VA, and then attended college in Roanoke. But you can tell that her upbringing in the Appalachians impacted her life forever.

I also loved that she began writing at as a small girl, taking the Nancy Drew stories and rewriting them to include herself as one of the characters or producing a different ending. I was enormously impressed to read this fact, as it is something I would have LOVED to do, but wouldn’t have had the nerve.

I can’t heartily recommend the book unless you are a true lover of memoirs. I borrowed the book from the library, so I didn’t mind that I skimmed some of the later essays. I might have felt a bit cheated if I had spent cold, hard cash on the book.

With that caveat, I give it a wobbly thumbs up.

Here is a link to the book.

unnamed

Thursday thoughts

And Then There Were None
Earlier this week we went to check on our mockingbird friends and discovered they were gone. They had flown the coop! Or the nest, really. All that was left was a few twigs that gave a nod to a nest having ever been there. I don’t know the status of the Mockingbird family, but I saw no birds carcasses. So, in my world, they are enjoying their new lives. Born free, as free as the wind blows…..

Hashtag I’m Worn Out
I babysat for Austin and Lilly last night, and those two DID ME IN. It was like they smelled weakness. I wasn’t there a half hour before they had pulled all of the cushions off of the sofa and we’re doing something that was a combination of trampolines and hide ‘n seek. At one point Austin said (and I quote), “Hashtag, I know I can do this,” as he prepared to place Lilly under one of the cushions and jump on it from the sofa. And I’m not kidding about the “hashtag.” I managed to head that one off at the pass. I thought it would be simple to put the cushions back, but since it is a sectional, it was like a crossword puzzle. And here is the point at which I knew I had lost all control…..
austin lilly shirts
Staging
Yesterday Bill and I made a trip to Goodwill to get rid of stuff we had been piling up in our little den. That made room for us to begin piling other stuff that we will be taking back to Denver with us at the end of next week. We really try to be at the point where we don’t have to transfer a lot of stuff back and forth, but we never fail to have a car full when we pull out of our driveway, either direction.

Some like it Hot
My granddaughter Kaiya has been studying the desert in her social studies class (or whatever they call it when you’re in second grade). The grand finale was a diorama featuring some aspects of desert life about which they have been studying. She and I have been discussing her studies for the past month or so, so she was proud to show me her project….
kaiya diarama

I was a little surprised at the Bactrian camel, but I had to remind myself that there are more deserts than simply the Sonoran Desert in which I have lived for the past four months. I think she did a great job.

Ciao!

Cooking for Dummies

I feel like I’m not a great cook any more. I’m not horrible, but I feel like I’ve lost the patience necessary to be a tremendous cook. Almost daily I thank my lucky stars that I elected not to do a blog exclusively about cooking. Because some of my most recent failures would not offer a compelling read, unless my blog was entitled Cooking Blunders.

Take Monday night’s dinner, for example. No, seriously. Take it, because it was practically inedible. And God bless Bill because he doesn’t EVER complain about my cooking. So he bit into the pieces of completely charred Italian sausage and said something like, “Food Network would call this carmelized.”

It was such a nice try on his part, but the truth is Food Network would call it a cooking fail.

The recipe was simple. Tiny new potatoes, fresh green beans, sliced pieces of Italian sausage, seasoning, all doused in olive oil and put into a piece of aluminum foil. The foil was closed up to make a package, and cooked for 30 minutes on the grill. Easy, right?

Except that I should have double wrapped it in the foil because it cooked fine on the closed side. However, I turned it so that the part that I had allegedly pinched closed was on the bottom, and unfortunately, it really wasn’t closed. At least not tightly enough.  As a result, the olive oil dripped onto the grill and a rather large fire ensued. A fire of which I was entirely unaware because I was engrossed in a book. I was reminded of a simply hilarious episode of the Bob Newhart Show in which Bob was grilling steaks on his Chicago condo’s patio and unbeknownst to him, the steaks caught fire. Bob was in his living room doing all of the funny conversational things of which Bob Newhart is the master, and in the background the audience watched as the grill was consumed by flames.

That was me on Monday night.

Here’s an interesting fact about moi. I am easily influenced by reading what someone in a book is eating. So if I read a book that takes place in India, I crave Indian food. If Mexican food is mentioned, that’s what I want for dinner. It happens the book that I’m reading (in which I was so engrossed and totally missed out on a grill fire which rivaled the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, minus Mrs. O’Leary’s cow) takes place in Scotland, and the characters routinely eat scones.

Normally I can take or leave scones, but after reading about the characters eating scones with their tea, I simply HAD to have a scone. If I was in Denver, I would simply have walked over to Whole Foods and purchased a peach scone. Despite giving it plenty of thought, I couldn’t think where I could get a scone around our AZ house. (Bec has since reminded me that Starbucks sells scones and there are probably two or three hundred Starbucks in a five mile radius of our house. Oh well.)

So I made my own peach scones. Had I shot video of my endeavor, it would not have made the cut on Next Food Network Star. Perhaps on America’s Worst Cooks. Ina Garten makes the process of making scones look easy (using peaches imported from a small organic and sustainable peach grove in the south of France). She ends up with a beautiful disk of dough that she easily cuts into triangles and bakes until they are a golden brown with sugar crystals glistening on top. I, on the other hand, ended up with a crumbly mess that I pressed into roughly a round disk, all the while frantically patting the crumbs back into the dough.

But it didn’t turn out too bad…..

peach scone disc

And when it was all said and done, the scones were quite delicious, as evidenced by Bill eating two in a row.

Just as an aside, when I’m cooking, Ina Garten often comes to mind. Mostly how she would be horrified to observe me in the kitchen. For example, I thought of her recently when I was making chicken. I had seasoned the chicken, and needed to throw something away. Because I had not yet washed my hands (which were full of whatever it was that I wanted to toss) and didn’t want to touch anything with raw chicken still lurking there, I opened the cabinet door with my feet. While doing so, a couple of thoughts came into my mind: 1) I have never seen Ina Garten open a cabinet with her feet; and 2) I wonder if it is any more sanitary to put your feet on the kitchen cabinet handle than using chicken-laced hands.

Don’t worry, I used an antibacterial cloth to wipe the handle.

Here is the recipe for the peach scones. Despite the crumbly dough, the scones were delicious.

peach scone cut

Peach Scones, courtesy honestcooking.com

Ingredients
2 c. plus 2 T. all-purpose flour
1/3 c. brown sugar
1 T baking powder
½ t. salt
½ c. unsalted butter, cubed and cold
1 egg
¼ c. heavy whipping cream, plus more for brushing
¼ c. sour cream
2 t. vanilla extract
½ c. fresh peaches, diced

Process
Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
In a bowl, mix together flour, brown sugar, baking powder, and salt. Once combined, cut in the butter with a fork or pastry cutter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.

Whisk together heavy cream, sour cream, egg, and vanilla extract. Slowly add the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix until just combined.

Stir in the peaches, and mix until just combined.

On a well-floured surface, turn out the scone dough and pat into a small disk that’s about a half inch thick. Cut into 6-8 slices, and transfer to the baking sheet. Brush each scone with just a bit of heavy cream.

Bake for 16-18 minutes, or just until golden brown. Allow to cool.

Nana’s Notes: Her recipe had a glaze; I chose to sprinkle mine liberally with sugar after brushing on the cream. Also, since I was facing the above-mentioned crumbly mess, I formed my disk right on the baking sheet, and that seemed to work fine. Finally, I didn’t use fresh peaches; instead, I used canned. That made the dough a bit wetter and the resulting scones a bit more moist. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.