King of Beasts
If you read Tuesday’s post, you know that Bec and I went to the Denver Zoo this week. I was very happy to be able to make use of my membership after COVID stopped us all dead in our tracks. We saw lots of animals, but one of our favorites appeared at the very end of our visit. Earlier, as we walked by the lion exhibit, there wasn’t a lion to be seen. Too hot, we thought. But as we made our way to the door, we passed the lion exhibit one more time. There we spotted the King of Beasts, acting like the King of Beasts. Behind me I heard a small child say, “Look Mommy! There’s Mufasa.” The Lion King is one of my favorite Disney movies, and I must admit that the lion resembled Mufasa…..

See the resemblance?

Favorite Things
I saw something on Facebook the other day that caught my eye. What movie have you purposely seen more than 10 times? The person who posted the question admitted to seeing Forest Gump and Groundhog Day more than 10 times. I have seen Forest Gump exactly twice. Groundhog Day I may have seen 10 times, but not on purpose. It just seems to be on television a lot. I like both movies. However, the movie I’m certain I have watched way more than 10 times is The Blind Side. I love that movie so much. I love it so much, in fact, that Bill and I watched it again last night. Though I can practically say the dialogue along with Sandra Bullock, I never fail to cry in the right spots, get scared when I’m supposed to, and rejoice when Michael is dropped off at college. As an aside, Blues Brothers is the movie Bill would say he’s seen many, many times.

Happy Birthday
We celebrate lots of birthdays in August, and this past Tuesday was our grandson Micah’s ninth birthday. Micah is a fan of making music. He has had an ear for music almost since birth. He has honed his musical interests a bit, and prefers percussion. I heard him say he wanted a glockenspiel for his birthday this year, so Papa and I gave him that for his present. First thing Tuesday morning, I got a text video from his mom featuring Micah on the glockenspiel. Needless to say, he is almost a maestro already, glockenspiel-wise. He seemed very happy.

BFFs
Adelaide met her new best friend on Monday, her roommate Maya (I hope I’m spelling that correctly). I was very lucky when I moved to the dormitory back in 1972. My roommate became one of my very best friends. We jelled immediately. It helped that she had attended a small Catholic high school that our small Catholic high school competed against in all sports. It was, in fact, our archenemy, but my roommate and I were able to overcome. I hope that Adelaide and Maya will be good friends.

Between visits to the zoo, visits to the doctor, and other various activities, I wasn’t able to be creative enough to come up with an idea for a blog. Here is an oldie, but goodie from a year ago.

A couple of weeks ago when we were in Montana, Julie, Maggie Faith, and I drove into Yellowstone National Park. The forest ranger at the entrance gate gave us a map of the park and a smile. We no sooner left the gate when Maggie spoke up brightly from the back seat, “Can I have the map and be the navigator?”

She’s only 12 years old, but I have seen most of my grandkids, including Maggie, use my GPS program to locate many a geocache. So I know they are capable of reading a map. Reading cursive writing? No. But a map? Yep.

It came as no surprise to this Nana that Maggie did a pretty darn job of navigating. Oh, she had a bit of trouble remembering that north was at the top of the map. But she correctly led us to all of our chosen points of interest.

“I feel like I’m with the explorers Lewis and Clark,” I said. “Which one are you, Lewis or Clark?”

Without missing a beat or looking up from her map, she replied, “I don’t know. Which one was most important?”

Bada boom!

I don’t have the self confidence of Maggie, but I share her love for maps. I am, however, mostly unable to navigate as I have no sense of direction or distance. When Ms. Google tells me to turn left in a thousand feet, she might as well be explaining the Big Bang theory to me. I got nothin’. I have no idea how far one thousand feet is.

But I will tell you that if you put a map in my hands, you’ve lost my attention for the  foreseeable future. It’s inexplicable and inconsistent, but there you have it. I can get lost in a map. (Ha ha; get it? Lost in a map?) I think that the fact that my sense of direction is so poor contributes to my obsession with maps.

Here’s what I mean: Despite having spent three months living in Europe 10 years ago, I still will look at a map and think I didn’t know Spain and France were right next to each other, or maybe wow, you could walk from Italy to Croatia. 

If you really want to see me absorbed in something, hand me a road map of the United States. I love to see what states are neighbors; how far St. Louis is from Louisville, Kentucky; through what states the Mississippi River flows; whether North Carolina is really north of South Carolina. I try to recall my elementary school tests and name the state capitals.

And for what it’s worth, while Captain Lewis probably bragged to his buddy Second Lieutenant Clark that he was the leader of the expedition, the fact of the matter is that they would both still be wandering around if it wasn’t for Sacagawea, their 16-year-old Shoshone guide. Men never ask for directions.

What’s more, Sacagawea 

Cole and his sisters spent last night with us. Their dad dropped them off, and stayed a while to chat. At one point, Cole told his dad he really, really, really wanted to see the movie CODA, a movie none of us (save Cole) had heard of. Court looked it up and learned that it is a movie only showing in the theaters right now, and broke that news to Cole.

“That’s not fair,” said Cole, who wanted to watch it from his house.

“You know what, Cole?” I said. “When I was a little girl, our movie theater only showed one movie. There was only one option in our whole town.”

Cole was quiet for a second, and then replied, “That’s REALLY not fair.”

That’s life when you live with the dinosaurs.

Have a great weekend.

It’s Like a Carnival
Yesterday I took Mylee and a friend of hers to Elitches to fulfill a birthday present promise. I told her I would take her and a friend on any adventure she chooses. She chose the amusement park. I’m not one for amusement parks, I’m afraid. There is very little, however, that I wouldn’t do to make my grands happy. Her friend was a bit apprehensive about some of the rides, but Mylee talked her into going on the swings about five times. They also rode on something called The Spider. It made me nauseous just to watch, but they did fine. I will admit, however, as they took off towards the swings once again, I saw a girl lose her lunch on The Spider. It involved a lot of people wearing orange vests and some cat litter and bleach to clean up the mess. Poor little thing. As an aside, Cole was also supposed to go. However, the night before, he started showing signs of a bad cold. He was disappointed that he could not go with us, but frankly, he had to be somewhat relieved. He was white as a ghost when I came to pick up Mylee and her friend. However, when we returned around 4, I could see him jumping on the sofa through the window, and figured he felt better. He did, indeed. He had color in his face and a smile on his lips.

Whatever, It Holds Money
After several days of being around Addie pretty much nonstop, she finally admitted to me that she was amused as heck every time I referred to my billfold as, well, a billfold. “What do you call it?” I asked her. “A wallet, Nana,” she said. “It’s a wallet.” Well, I grew up calling it a billfold, and I’m too old the change now. But I was curious, so the other night I asked Jll what she calls the thing in her purse that holds credit cards and money. “A wallet,” she said. I explained why I was asking. “Men carry wallets and women carry billfolds,” I insisted. She figures it’s a regional thing because her mother — who grew up in Iowa — also calls it a billfold. “And I’ll bet Grandma Wilma called it a billfold too,” she added. Perhaps. They probably call fizzy soft drinks sodas instead of pop.

And Speaking of Old School….
Yesterday, while at Elitch Gardens with the two girls, I did what my mother always did if we were somewhere in a crowd. “Girls,” I said. “If we should get separated, make your way to the ferris wheel and we will meet there.” Mylee looked at me with a crooked smile. “Or, Nana, we could just, uh, text each other.” Oh yeah. Texting. It never occurred to me to make that most excellent suggestion. I’m pretty sure the grands think I was born during the dinosaur age.

Cobbs
Yesterday was exceedingly hot outside, making our amusement park experience somewhat unpleasant. We drank lots of water, and the girls cooled off with Dipping Dots. After dropping them off at Mylee’s house, I was driving home, trying to think about what to make for dinner. I was so exceedingly hot that I couldn’t imagine sitting down in front of a hot meal. So I stopped at the Safeway I was passing by at that moment, and bought fixings for a cobb salad. It gave me a chance to use up a tomato from my garden, and some leftover chicken. I fried some bacon, loaded on the bleu cheese, and we had a cooling feast. Bill didn’t even blink an eye at the absence of meat and potatoes.

Ciao!

As we sat and ate breakfast one morning in Vermont, Addie informed me that she is part of Generation Z. I had never heard of Generation Z. I don’t know exactly why we went from Generation X straight to Generation Z, leaving “Y” to wonder why. (Did you see how I did that?) I guess the Millennials were so busy polishing their Participant trophies that they didn’t notice their generation didn’t garner a letter.

I asked Addie to explain the nuts and bolts of Generation Z.

“We want to make the world a better place,” she explained.

Wow, I thought. I wish we would have thought about that during the 60s and 70s. Guess we were too busy trying to get the world back to normal following World War II and/or trying to win a winless war in southeast Asia to think about anything like women’s rights or civil rights. Sorry Martin Luther King and Gloria Steinem.

When I got back to Denver, I looked up Generation Z for myself. What I learned was that every one of my grandkids is a member of this generation. Ages range from 6 to 24. Our youngest grandchild is 7. I will admit that I don’t think Cole is thinking much about making the world a better place. He is too busy worrying about whether the number of his toys is greater or fewer than that of his sisters’. On the other hand, I think our older grands certainly are concerned about the world. I also think they probably blame its faults on Baby Boomers. Sigh.

To me, one of the most significant characteristics of Generation Z is that they are the first generation to have not spent a single day without the internet or portable technology (i.e. cell phones and tablets). The idea of calling up a research librarian is a concept they can only remotely understand. Perhaps even a the idea of a library is foreign to them. They are used to instant information.

Teenage pregnancies are lower for Zoomers. (Boomers and Zoomers. It sounds like a college fight song. I’m looking at you OU) They drink less alcohol but use more illegal drugs. They care more about school and finding jobs than did their Millennial counterparts. Perhaps the fact that letter grades became outdated because they were hurtful to little Millennials Ethan and Ashley contributed to Zoomers’ increased focus on grades. Zoomers might have noticed that their older Millennial brothers and sisters were living at home after college.

I guess every generation thinks theirs is the one that will change the world. Our children learn from their parents’ and grandparents’ mistakes. I just hope that they don’t think that we didn’t care about what was happening around us. Getting older kind of sucks, but I won’t complain about getting wiser. While the world created by Boomers certainly has its flaws, Generation Z will soon learn that changing an entire world made up of all manner of people and ideas is not as easy as we would like.

Still, good on them that they want to change the world. I just hope that they want to leave the good things in place.

I came across a very important news article the other day. Since you might not have seen the news, Nana’s Whimsies will be the first to tell you. While we hear about the greed and selfishness of Big Corporation America, one company is putting its customers first.

Forget about curing COVID. Forget about disappearing glaciers. Forget about starving children. Heinz Corporation is about to tackle one of the most serious issues of the day: Why are there 10 hot dogs to a package but only eight buns to a package of hotdog buns. The crisis comes, of course, when there are two leftover hot diggities after the buns have all been used. Unless you have a couple of people who are gluten-free and would prefer to eschew the bun, you will need to buy another complete package of buns, leaving you with six additional buns. And then you will have four leftover hot dogs once the buns are gone. And so on. And so on. And so on, into hot dog infinity and beyond.

It’s called the Big Hot Dog Crisis. Well, at least that’s what I’m calling it.

I am not embarrassed to tell you that I am a big fan of the hot dog. In fact, one of my favorite lunches is the Costco special in which you get a foot-long dog and a Diet Coke for a buck fifty. Or at least it used to be a buck fifty. Hot dog prices may have risen along with everything else. I like mine with ketchup, mustard, onions, pickle relish. Or maybe chili and cheese. Or perhaps a Chicago dog with the works. Any kind will do.

Back to the crisis. According to the National Hot Dog Sausage Council (and who knew that existed and why am I not a member?), the reason for having eight hot dog buns to a package is that sandwich rolls, or hot dog buns, most often come eight to the pack because the buns are baked in clusters of four in pans designed to hold eight rolls. That must be true, because if you can’t trust the Hot Dog Sausage Council, who can you trust?

In July, which is apparently National Hot Dog Month (and nobody told me that or I would have celebrated heartily), Heinz began a campaign called the Heinz Hot Dog Pact that challenges hot dog makers and hot dog bun bakers to agree on the number per package. Heinz suggests the number be 10. Of course, that has nothing to do with the fact that the company is already putting 10 dogs to a pack. As a result, baking companies the world over would have to buy new pans. They might have to bring in the big dogs (get it? big dogs?) to make the decision.

By the way, there is a chance that you will have a few guests at your next hot dog gathering similar to that of my niece Jessie. One time, when she was a little girl, we were together at a barbecue. She asked me for a plain hot dog. I put a hot dog onto a bun, and handed it to her. She looked at me like I had two heads. It turns out that to Jessie, a plain hot dog meant a bun. Period. No dog. She is probably not worried at all about the inequity of the hot dog and the bun. Worse case scenario, she could dip a slice of Wonder bread in some ketchup.

Hot diggity, dog diggity, boom what they do to me!

I spent the past week pondering why Vermonters are so dang nice. I would look around as I licked the maple creemee off of my fingers while the cone dripped and saw people smiling and looking content. They don’t seem to be in a particular hurry. They don’t cut in front of you so as to save one quarter of a second on the road. They smile and wave and call each other by their first names. Even the dogs are friendly. Part of it is the aforementioned maple creemee…..

Part of it is their beautiful green surroundings……

The beautiful green fields make me feel friendly too. How can you help but be happy when there is maple sap dripping from your trees and your cows are black and white and help produce delicious Cabot horseradish cheddar cheese and Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream?

Bill and I spent the past week with our Vermont family. God blessed us with a break in the rainy weather they’ve been having this summer, offering instead sunshiny days with temperatures in the 70s. Sure, the humidity was enough to sink a small ship, but who cared when the sun was shining off of the beautiful Mad River in which our kids bravely swam. Brave, because it was extremely cold. But Vermonters (and one Coloradan, namely Addie) are of hearty stock and barely flinched as they dove in. Well, truth be told, they did flinch some, but they did indeed follow their flinching with swimming…..

To be perfectly honest, I will admit that the time we spent with our Vermont family included a lot of swimming. I, of course, can’t swim a single stroke. Still, I am very happy that every single one of our grandkids swim, and they all love it very much. As for me, I love to watch. One of our swimming adventures included an afternoon at Smugglers’ Notch Resort, 45 minutes from Montpelier. Among the plethora of activities, there was a twisty slide one went down on an inner tube. Somehow Micah and Joseph were persuasive enough to talk me into taking that daring plunge. Micah was so happy when he saw me hit the bottom that he helped me out of my tube, threw his arms around me and kissed me. ON THE MOUTH. This, from a child who is not terribly demonstrative. He simply couldn’t contain his joy and excitement that even his nana should feel the thrill.

Between swimming adventures, we made it to an apple cider mill, where we were able to taste a cup of the ice cold cider from the tap as we watched it being made. More important, we were able to purchase apple cider donuts. The sweet donuts are beyond delicious, as evidenced by the five of us consuming an entire dozen before you could say “I’ll bet even Tom Brady loves these apple donuts.”

And if I can give you one example that clearly describes the nature of Vermont and its citizens, I will talk about Thunder Road Speedbowl in Barre, VT, which refers to itself as Nation’s site of excitement. That is clearly an overstatement since, even if we limited it to only racetracks, I would choose Talladega over Thunder Road. Still, Talladega doesn’t have the state’s governor as one of its car racers.

Yes, friends, Phil Scott, governor of the wonderful state of Vermont, drives his No. 14 stock car every Thursday during the summer in Vermont. His only restriction is that he can’t have sponsors. Seems fair. Gov. Scott holds the title as the only governor in the United States to drive stock cars. Bill and I, and our Gang of Five, loved our night at the races. But we mostly loved watching Gov. Scott drive because, GOVERNOR. Unfortunately for him, he drove No. 14 into the wall in one of the early races, and never quite recovered. His car, I mean. I think he was perfectly fine, and his lieutenant governor was not spotted measuring the Governor’s Office for new drapes.

Between being cooked for by our eldest grandchild…..

…..and receiving many hugs and kisses for a week, this nana loves Vermont.

And, oh, by the way, the Vermonters might be so nice because they live so close to Canada.