Monthly Archives: May 2018

Thursday Thoughts

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Holiday Road
At 3:45 yesterday afternoon, the David McLain family took off for their three months on the road, traveling in an RV. I watched the kids pack up the things that they felt they couldn’t live without for three months. I saw lots of books and arts-and-crafts supplies. In the case of Dagny, I saw very many little Tupperware containers of slime. As for Addie, like most teenagers, she brought enough toiletries to raise her father’s eyebrows. They were excited, nervous, and the parents, at least, looked tired. The first destination was Rock Springs, Wyoming – where my Uncle Elmer told us the birds fly upside down. Just sayin’. Off they go…..

The kids prepare their home-away-from-home for the summer.

Off they go!

Chain Gang
Court has been helping us out with yard work this summer, and I’m pretty sure he wishes yesterday he hadn’t come by. Bill took advantage of his youth and strength and had him moving rocks from the side of our house into the pond area. Bill has a vision for the pond, and it involves many, many rocks. Shoveling rock is not for wimps, and I’m pretty sure Court had trouble getting out of bed this morning!…..

My New Pizza
Court brought Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole with him yesterday. They played while he worked. Lots of Play Doh, of course. There was also an outdoor game that looked like a combination of soccer and tag. I never really understood the rules, and I’m pretty sure Cole never did either – though he played the entire game. When it was lunchtime, I asked Court what sounded good and, more importantly, what the kids would eat. Cole’s new favorite food is pepperoni pizza, Court told me. So I ordered a pizza from our neighborhood pizzeria that was half pepperoni and half sausage. I also ordered some meatballs for Mylee, who is not a pizza lover. When I opened up the box, I told Cole, “Look, pepperoni pizza! You’re favorite.” “I don’t like pepperoni pizza,” he announced firmly. So there. Pepperoni pizza was sooooo yesterday. There were plenty of meatballs to go around.

Mom, Can Y’all Order Me This Song From iTunes?
Jen texted me last night with this funny story. Her grandson Austin, who is 7, asked his mom to download from iTunes what he referred to as “his favorite song.” A pop tune? Maybe some rap? Nope. His new favorite song is Kick the Dust Up by Luke Bryan. This photo from last December should have given me a clue.Yippi-i-o-ki-a…..

Ciao.

 Big Enough to Fit an Elephant

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Most of the regular network dramas are wrapped up for the summer. That’s okay. It was time for us to say goodbye to Frank Reagan for a few months. Tom Sellick needs a bit of time to practice up on his sighing. There are only a few shows that Bill and I faithfully watch, and (spoiler alert) it was fun to see that Jamie Reagan and his partner Eddie will be getting married next season. Let’s just hope that Blue Bloods doesn’t surprise its fans in next season’s opener with an unexpected mid-summer death like they did this season. My heart can’t take it. As for Madame Secretary, well, wait and see, I guess. A series name change perhaps?

At any rate, because we have moved to reruns or stupid space fillers, Bill and I are positively scrounging for things to watch in the evening. You would think between cable television, Netflix, and Amazon Prime, we could come up with something. The problem basically is that we can’t seem to find many shows on which we agree. He would watch Anything Mafia and I would watch Anything British Murder Mystery, and frankly, never the twain shall meet. Imagine Inspector Robbie Lewis saying, “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

So we’ve started taking turns picking our nightly program. His recent choice was Kill the Irishman, a docudrama on Netflix about real-life Cleveland gangster Danny Greene that included lots and lots and lots of cars and buildings exploding. When it was my turn, I chose Rocky, the 1976 film written by and starring Sylvester Stallone. Yo, Adrian.

While Kill the Irishman was released in 2011, the story takes place in the 1970s, culminating in Greene’s death (predictably, by explosion) in 1977. On the other hand, Rocky was released in 1976. Even when they are period pieces, the more current films have a different feel to them than do the older films. I sort of like the look and feel of the films made in the 1970s, 80s, and even 90s. They’re often so delightfully cheesy. See above: Yo, Adrian.

One of the things that both Kill the Irishman and Rocky had in common were the 1970s cars. If you would have asked me about cars from circa 1970, I would have said they were big. But even with that knowledge under my hat, I was taken aback by the sheer size of the cars. Quite literally, my VW Bug could almost fit in the trunk of some of those cars.

Bill’s father was a Buick man, mainly because his brother-in-law was a Buick dealer in North Carolina. As a steel worker, his father would never have considered anything but an American car, but the relationship required the American car be a Buick. So every couple of years, Rex would trade in his car for the same car/newer version. He would drive down to North Carolina and make the switch.

My dad was a Buick man for many years. Our neighbor sold Buicks, and that accounted for Dad’s choice. Dad’s choice, that is, until one year when the two had a bit of a fall-out around the car, and a few hours later, Dad pulled into our driveway in a brand new, shiny, Mercury Marquis.  If he could have, Dad would have had the license plate read Eff U.

The car was beautiful. It was a pretty shade of burgundy. And it was big. Huge. Almost-couldn’t-fit-in-our-garage huge. He brought the car home the morning we were leaving on our summer vacation. The trunk was large enough to easily handle luggage that fit clothes and supplies for six people for a week. Heck, it could have handled a washer and dryer as well, had Mom been so inclined. Huge.

Not actually our car, but same vintage.

We all loved that car, and Mom and Dad drove it for many years. I can’t remember when they sold it. I’m sure my brother will know. But I’m fairly certain they had the car long enough that the next car was considerably smaller. Remember President Carter’s gas lines?

I don’t miss big cars. I can’t imagine having to drive (and park) cars of that size, especially with the number of cars on Denver’s roads these days. Still, they were pretty, and they were nearly as comfortable as sitting in an easy chair in your living room.

Frankly, now even easy chairs in your living room aren’t that comfortable.

Thanks for the Memorial Memories

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It’s funny when you’re retired. Holidays don’t take on the same meaning. Man alive, I well remember those three-day holidays when I worked hard for a living. Three days of pure relaxation to which you looked forward for weeks! Now, frankly, most of my days are relaxing. But though they aren’t quite as satisfyingly refreshing, holiday weekends are still a lot of fun.

This year, Memorial Day took on a bit of a different tone, as Dave and Jll and the four kids are leaving in a couple of days for their three-month adventure. The six of them will be traveling by RV across the western part of the United States, through Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington State, Alaska, Oregon, Northern California, Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, and back to Colorado come mid-August. Along the way, they will stop at nearly every National Park in each state thanks to the Every Kid in a Park program sponsored by your United States of American government. The program allows for free entry for fourth graders and their families throughout 2018. So, thanks Maggie Faith for being a fourth grader.

Here is just a quick look at what to expect from the Traveling McLains…..

The family van will be attached behind the bikes. Can you hear the National Lampoon’s Vacation theme playing in your head?

Saturday night, Jll and the kids came by to enjoy a nice spring afternoon and evening in our back yard. The weather was nearly perfect, and – though we missed Dave (who was traveling back to the U.S. from Poland as we nibbled our barbecued ribs) – we had a great time. Following dinner, we put Alastair’s Boy Scout skills to the test, asking him to build a fire for S’Mores. He was very serious, and very successful…..

We enjoyed our treats. I especially enjoyed what Dagny called The Perfect S’More which she prepared for me. I think she was right…..

Sunday morning, Jen drove down from Fort Collins to spend the day with us. She and I made our annual trek to Fort Logan National Cemetery, where we laid flowers next to Mom and Dad’s headstone. The cemetery is always lovely as every year a Boy Scout troop sets flags next to each grave. Mom and Dad wouldn’t haunt us if we missed a year, but we have strong memories of making a trip every year with Mom to our grandparent’s graves in Columbus. Just as Mom did, our bouquet consisted of iris and peonies from my gardens…..

Sunday evening Court and Alyx and the kids joined us for a dinner of ceviche, carne asada, and Jen’s homemade Spanish rice. For dessert? Why mess with perfection? S’Mores. This time Court was in charge of the fire. He was a bit more challenged by wet fireword from a shower earlier in the afternoon. Still, after a few fire starters, a nice fire was born…..

Kaiya and Mylee enjoyed S’Mores…..

Cole chose not to eat a S’More, being more of a purist. His choice was too-many-to-count plain marshmallows. Though I missed the sight, I’m told at one point he had one in each cheek, resembling a chipmonk.

Yesterday was a bit quieter. I had lunch with Addie, because she hadn’t been able to be at dinner the other night, having one of those annoying things called a J-O-B. So we ate burgers and she talked about her upcoming adventures. In the meantime, Bill spent the afternoon with Dave, smoking cigars on their front porch and listening to his adventures in Poland.

I love summer, and in the eyes of my mom, Memorial Day was the beginning of summer. She was always as happy as I . Here’s to a great summer for everyone, and if you happen to come across an RV carrying six bicycles, wave hello to the Traveling McLains.

Saturday Smile: School’s Out For the Summer

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Yesterday was the last day of school for Kaiya and Mylee. They had a half day to pack up their desks and say goodbye to their teachers and friends, and then they were FREE!

So, to celebrate, they spent the afternoon, along with their brother Cole, at Nana’s house. We went to the park, they played with Play Doh (of course), the made a village out of sidewalk chalk, they put on their swim suits and ran through the sprinkler. Well, Kaiya and Mylee did. Cole put on his swim suit for about 45 seconds before he pronounced the water was too cold and he wanted his regular clothes back on.

After several hours of nonstop fun, finally about 4 o’clock, they agreed to sit quietly and play Minecraft and watch television……

Could this boy possibly look more tired?

But they sucked it up and posed for a photo in Papa’s fancy sports car…..

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Tuscan Child

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I will admit to being a fan of the lighthearted Her Royal Spyness mystery series by author Rhys Bowen. The novels are easy reading and somewhat quirky. And I won’t hesitate to be intrigued by any novel that takes place in Italy, particularly Tuscany. So The Tuscan Child, by Rhys Bowen, caught my eye immediately.

Towards the end of World War II, British pilot Hugo Langley is shot down by the Germans, but survives the crash of his airplane by parachuting into the grounds of an abandoned monastery just outside of a German-occupied Italian village in the heart of Tuscany. He would have died except that he was discovered by a young Italian woman named Sofia Bartoli as she gathers food for her starving family. She secretly bandages his wounds and keeps him fed, risking her life and the lives of her family. Days pass, and in the easy manner of many novels, love ensues. When the village is liberated, the British army takes Langley back to Great Britain to heal from his accident. Rumor has it that Sofia is seen driving away with a German officer. So, with great sadness, he puts Sofia in the past, and eventually he marries and has a daughter.

Fast forward to contemporary times, and his daughter Joanna, who has never been close to her father, returns to bury him following his death. As she is going through his things, she stumbles upon a letter he wrote to a mysterious woman named Sofia. It is clear that he loved her very much. What’s more, he talks in his letter about “their golden child” being safe.

What? Joanna knows nothing about a love affair prior to her mother, or a sibling. So, in the way of many novels, she puts her life on hold and travels to the Tuscan village to try and discover her father’s secrets. Perhaps the mysterious Sofia is still alive.

The Tuscan Child is not the Great American Novel. The plot is familiar and the characters are somewhat one-dimensional. But what makes The Tuscan Child a book to be read is the imageries of the countryside of Tuscan Italy, and the mouthwatering discriptions of the food. It is simply a book that nearly DEMANDS a glass of wine and a plate of spaghetti while being read.

Lovers of All Things Italian: This is a novel for you.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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It’s Better Than Math Class
Last week I told you about hanging out at Maggie Faith’s field day – an event that most Denver area elementary schools hold at the end of the year when the kids are starting to drive the teachers crazy and the teachers are desperately looking for ways to keep them entertained for the last week or so. At her school, the events are mostly water-related. This week I went to Kaiya and Mylee’s field day at a different school. Unfortunately, as I watched Kaiya’s class walk out of school, I didn’t see Kaiya. Just then, I got a text from Court telling me that she hadn’t come to school that day because she was sick. So I returned home until afternoon, when Mylee’s second grade class had their field day. It turns out that their events are much more related to track. Among the activities: a game in which the kids ran under a parachute and had to run back out before it came down on top of them. Mylee had great speed and perfect timing…..

…..and three-legged races, an event with which she and her partner struggled a bit…..

…..and the tried-and-true tug-of-war…..

Her brother Cole was an observer, and excelled at being cute…..

Now, That’s Art
The Denver Art Museum hosted a special exhibit of works by the great French Impressionist artist Edgar Degas. It was a limited exhibit, and it was about to end. Bill and I had been talking about going, but never got around to, well, actually going. My friend Megan – who is one of them-thar high-cultured ladies – is a member of the art museum, and invited Bill and me to join her at the exhibit. It felt nice to be a grown-up for a change. Imagine, going to downtown Denver with the other grown-ups, and enjoying an amazing art exhibit. I know next to nothing about art, but I know what I like, and I liked most of what I saw. Not all, but it was fun to see how the artist progressed and changed his style throughout his life. He seemed to be largely interested in ballerinas, horses, and women taking baths. The fact that I’m not tittering about the nudes in the bathtubs shows just how sophisticated I am. Megan and I posed outside of the museum…..

Flowers
One of my goals this spring and summer was to make my life easier when it came to my plants. I love having flowers and vegetables, but I hate dragging hoses to get them watered. A few years ago, Bill pulled out some juniper bushes from our front yard. Since then, we have been trying to figure out what to plant in that spot. We’ve tried a variety of things, but because our sprinkler system doesn’t water that area, I have had to drag hoses. No longer, because this year we put in drought-friendly plants. We have grasses and a dwarf blue spruce, and lots of columbine. I figure if columbine can live on the side of a mountain, they can resist some dry weather. Aren’t they pretty?…..

Ciao.

Changes in Attitude, Indeed

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It’s these changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes
Nothing remains quite the same.
With all of our running and all of our cunning
If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane. – Jimmy Buffett

When I’m in Denver, I listen almost exclusively to sports radio when I’m in my car. It’s true that the talk is All Broncos, All the Time, but that’s okay. I – apparently along with many other people – can’t get enough scuttlebutt about our football team.

How can you not want to listen to sports analysis when you have situations such as John Elway signing former Colorado State University quarterback Nick Stevens to the Broncos’ roster despite telling fans and players that under no circumstances would he have four quarterbacks on the early roster?  I’m pretty sure the day he announced that the spunky Stevens would be competing for the QB spot, our first round draft pick from a few years ago Paxton Lynch – a QB who to this point has inspired exactly no one — broke out in a little tiny sweat. He might have even checked to see the length of his apartment lease. What he should be doing is checking the length of his throws.

At any rate, I enjoy hearing the different viewpoints and banter among all of the sports analysts on the station. What I don’t enjoy, however, are the commercials.

There are about three categories of commercials. You have your real estate ads. I can deal with those. You have your ads for divorce lawyers who specialize in figuring out ways to prevent men from having to pay alimony. They get under my skin a bit. And you have your erectile dysfunction ads, including testimonials. Oh, for the love of all that is good! I’m always surprised, by the way, that these macho sports announcers seem completely comfortable telling the world about their sexual deficiencies. They must get paid a lot of money.

However, a new category has recently been added. There is now an ad being played about 17 times an hour on this station for a product that prevents hair loss. The fact that there are ads for hair loss prevention products doesn’t surprise me. Men hate going bald. What amuses me is that the spokesman for these ads is Snoop Dogg……

It appears to me that the 46-year-old Snoop Dogg has a pretty good reason for advocating this product. His forehead definitely seems a bit large. Having said that, I must admit that I haven’t spent a lot of time following Mr. Dogg’s hairline. Still, I literally laugh out loud every time I hear him – in his urban dialect, no less – proclaiming the good news about the prevention of hair loss. It’s a sign of the aging of America.

But another sign is equally amusing. I came across the notice on Facebook. Ladies and gentlemen, Jimmy Buffett is opening retirement centers in – where else? – Florida. The first one will open late this summer in Daytona. It will be called – wait for it – Latitude Margaritaville. It will provide the opportunity for the 55-plus community to have a place where they can lay back, drink umbrella drinks all day, and never have to remove their parrothead hats…..

Good for Jimmy Buffett. He’s not willing to give up a life of fun despite being a septuagenarian. What’s more, he wants to share his joy, for a bundle of money, that is. Despite the fact that they are purported to be quite expensive, I would love to put my name on the list for one of the homes.

By the way, from all appearances, Mr. Buffett could stand to use Mr. Dogg’s product.

Can You Justify?

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I’m not a big fan of horses. While from afar, I find them powerful and beautiful animals, that’s just about where I want them – afar. They’re just a little too snorty and unpredictable for my taste.

Hidden deeply in a box in the back of someone’s closet, there is photographic documentation of a rather unfortunate decision made by my father regarding a vacation activity. My dad loved vacations, and he would do just about anything to create more fun times for Mom and their four children when it came to vacation fun. However, one year when we were vacationing in our favorite spot – Estes Park, Colorado – he decided it would be great fun to sign up the family for an early morning horseback trail ride. I don’t know how he talked Mom into this idea. Despite the fact that she grew up on a farm, Mom was not a farm girl. She thought, for example, that chickens were the stupidest animals on earth. If ever any of her children appeared to be lacking enthusiasm or energy, we were put in our place with her stern words: you look like a chicken with coccidiosis. For years I thought she invented that term. It wasn’t until I was an adult that I learned that chickens were, in fact, susceptible to an intestinal disease called coccidiosis with symptoms that included listlessness.

Anyhoo, Dad arranged this morning breakfast ride, which turned out to be a dismal failure. While Mom thought chickens were stupid, she thought horses were terrifying. And guess what? So did her children. Well, that’s not exactly true. For whatever reason, Bec is the member of our family who is (as Mary Poppins might say) practically fearless in every way. She likes horses and enjoys riding them. Go figure. But the rest of us were miserable, as the aforementioned photo documented. I was maybe 10 years old, which would have made Bec 15, Jen 6, and Dave 4. As you could predict, we did not get the perkiest horses in the stable. In fact, I believe they might have been sent off to the glue factory shortly after our ride. But that was fine with us. If the horse hadn’t moved an inch, we all (except Bec) would have been very happy. The other people who were on our trail ride, however, were eagerly anticipating breakfast. So the cowboy with the unfortunate job of handling the Gloors handed Mom a switch from a tree. “Here you go, Ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “If the horse doesn’t want to walk, give him a wack on his haunches and he will start to move.”

Needless to say, there was no wacking on the haunches of any of our horses. However, we somehow made it to the end of the trail and to breakfast. Dave, being so young, rode with Dad, sitting in front of him. He cried the entire way. Not sniffled, mind you – cried, with tears rolling down his cheek. It wasn’t until we arrived at breakfast that Dad figured out that Dave was riding on the saddle horn the entire way, thereby enduring a painful journey. I feel no need to explain.

I also feel no need to explain why Dave, Jen, and Mom rode back to the stable in a wagon following breakfast.

Having said all of the above, I will tell you that there is a month-and-a-half out of the year when I love horses, and that is during the Triple Crown races. Every first Saturday of May, I get a text from my brother asking for my Kentucky Derby prediction. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I learned that my brother was not totally scarred for life by his disturbing horseback-riding experience, and actually likes horse racing. Unlike me, he does not select his horse by whether or not it’s pretty or the colors worn by the jockey are striking. He actually studies the horses, the stables, the trainers, the jockeys. The one exception to what I just said is 2012, the year that I’ll Have Another raced. He picked the horse 100 percent because of his name. Too bad he didn’t bet the ranch, however, because I’ll Have Another went on to win the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness. He might have gone on to win Belmont Stakes, but he had an ouchie and couldn’t race. He, in fact, never raced again.

When Bill and I were first married, he was the proud owner of a gorgeous palomino horse named Champion Chip, called simply Chip. Even I had to admit to his sheer beauty. He was some 16 hands high, and spirited as all get-out. Bill had to break him, and did such a good job that he was able to ride Chip in parades along with other horses as part of a horseback riding group to which he belonged. To give you an idea of how large 16 hands is, the magnificent 1973 Triple Crown winner Secretariat – known for his size and power – was 16-and-1/2 hands high when he won those races.

While they didn’t win the Kentucky Derby, Bill and Chip looked amazing with the Sangre di Cristo mountains in the background…..

Suffice it to say that I never – not even once – got on Chip’s back. I’m pretty sure I never even touched him. One horseback ride was enough. It’s only a matter of time before one gets stomped by a horse…..

Two or More

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He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts.
Rest assured this troubadour is acting on his part.
The union of your spirits here has caused him to remain.
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name
There is love. – Noel Paul Stookey

There was a time during the 1970s when the above lyrics, from a song written in 1971 by the Paul in the folk group Peter, Paul, and Mary, were sung at nearly every wedding in every church in the United States of America.

The song, which the songwriter attributes to divine inspiration, uses some of my favorite words from the gospels. In Matthew 18:20, Jesus told his friends, “For where two or three gather together in my name, there am I with them.”

St. Paul – never one to let anyone have the last word, apparently even Jesus – confirmed this when he explained to the sinning Corinthians in his first letter to those folks that if you gather in the name of Jesus, you can fight evil.

I reminded myself of this fact at Mass yesterday, as I listened – or tried to – the priest’s Pentacost homily. I say tried to because I was faced with a few obstacles. First, the priest who celebrated our Mass was visiting from another parish. He is originally from India, and though his English is perfect, his accent is strong. That would be bad enough, except that he also speaks especially softly. Second, there was a poor, frenzied single father with three small children sitting directly behind us. He was trying his best; there was a lot of shushing going on. But have you ever tried to keep a toddler quiet when he or she is supposed to be quiet? So I wasn’t mad at Daddy or the children, but it made it even harder to hear the priest. And, of course, there was the poor acolyte who passed out, literally crashing to the floor, white as the Holy Ghost himself. She was okay and was revived by her mother who quickly came to her rescue.

These distractions were okay, however, because it gave me time to think about being in church for Mass. In particular, I wondered if there was any grace to be gained from attending a church service in which you can’t really participate for any number of reasons. Of course, if you’re Catholic, the Mass is really a celebration of the Eucharist, so that’s the primary reason why attendance is important. But for me, it goes beyond that. For me, gathering with a whole group of people – some friends, some slightly familiar faces, some strangers  — is an important part of prayer. Where two or more are gathered in his name, he is there right alongside of us, sitting with us, listening and responding to our group prayers.

Everyone’s spiritual needs are different. For some, God can be found in nature. For others, praying is easiest when driving alone in a car. Still others find their peace with God when sitting alone in a quiet church, their nostrils filled with the smell of leftover incense and listening to the sounds of quiet prayers coming from an old woman sitting in the back of the church.

I see God in nature and I often pray while I’m driving to or from a destination. The silence of a church is a perfect place to talk to God and listen for his response.

But for me, I need – and that word isn’t too strong – to gather with others every week and celebrate being a part of God’s family. I need to hear the familiar words of the Mass and the prayer responses. I need to greet others in the peace of Christ. I need to feel part of a church community. I believe that is why following Jesus’ death and resurrection, the apostles were absolutely desperate to gather together — whether in secret or in the open — in Jesus’ name. They remembered Jesus’ word about the importance of community.

I need to gather with two or three or more to feel the presence of God among us. There is love.

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