Cole and his sisters were at my house the other day. While both girls are on the small side of the doctor’s height/weight spectrum, Cole has always been tall. For a while, he was in the 90th percentile for height. This is particularly surprising as there are no tall people on either side of Court’s family. Alyx’s family is also on the small side. She has a vague recollection that one of her Cambodian grandfathers was tall, but wouldn’t swear on it. Nevertheless, Cole — while no longer in the 90th percentile — remains tall for his age.

While visiting, at one point, Cole went to the bathroom. After he was finished, he set about to wash his hands. “Nana,” I heard him holler, “I can’t reach the soap.”

Now, that was somewhat of a surprise, because I was pretty sure that he was able to reach all the way to the mirror, but I went in anyway. The soap dispenser was almost to the front, about five inches away from the edge.

“Cole,” I said, “you can reach the soap easily.”

“No I can’t, Nana,” he replied. “I’m not tall anymore.”

Methinks he’s a bit tired of hearing how TALL he is and wants to remind us every once in a while that he’s the BABY.

That boy makes me laugh…..
Have a great weekend.

Missing Magnolia
I was having lunch with a friend in downtown Denver yesterday. As I was getting off light rail, my phone rang and it was Jll. Thanks for being so good to Maggie this summer, she said to me. No problem, I responded. She sort of takes care of herself. Jll went on, Well, let me know when you want me to pick her up. Oh, oh, I thought to myself. I quickly explained that Maggie Faith was not with me; in fact, I was meeting a friend for lunch. Jll wasn’t concerned, figuring she was still at the pool following her swim team class. About an hour later, I got a text from Dagny: Is Maggie at your house? In my typical Kris fashion, I immediately went to THEY CAN’T FIND MAGGIE. OMG. SHE’S LOST SOMEWHERE IN DENVER. I envisioned that Jll was on the phone with the police and shouted at Dagny to begin texting grandparents. I texted Dagny back, telling her that Maggie wasn’t at our house. I quickly said a prayer, and continued with my lunch. As I walked back to light rail, I texted Dagny and asked her if Maggie had been found. Dagny responded: Nope, but she’s probably at the pool or in the basement. I gave up. That threw me for a moment until the light bulb went on: There had been no missing Maggie crisis. Dagny had just been wanting to come to my house and hoped Maggie was there. I’d like to say Crisis Averted except that there was no crisis except in my crazy mind. Jll later assured me that had Maggie really been missing, she wouldn’t have been sending out casual texts from Dagny.

Swimming Upstream
Since I no longer work downtown, I pay no attention to whether or not there is a day baseball game. It didn’t take too long to figure out that not only was there a one o’clock Rockies game, they were playing the Cubs! Yikes. When the Cubs are in town, there are usually as many Cubs fans as there are Rockies fans. And it was true that the light rail contained pretty equal numbers of fans wearing purple and fans wearing red, white, and blue. Since we were eating very near the ballpark, we felt like salmon swimming upstream amongst the crazed fans.

No Michaelangelo
The other day, Cole asked Kaiya to make him a dog out of Play Doh. She immediately went to work, carefully sculpting a dog using only her imagination. You might remember that last summer Cole asked me to make him a dog out of Play Doh. Can you guess who made which dog?…..

Yes, my friends, the dog on the right was made by Yours Truly. To be fair, it was a dog running. Kaiya’s dog was stationary. And quite adorable. Clearly, she got her talent from someone other than her Nana Kris.

Summer Weather
The afternoon-rain weather pattern has taken a break, for which I am very grateful. We finally had to turn on our sprinkler system. June 10 is the latest I can ever remember that the system went on. The pattern is supposed to return sometime in the next few days. It’s been a nice break.

Ciao.

A few of my Denver grandkids have had the opportunity to experience Ameritowne, a program originated by Colorado cable magnate Bill Daniels. The program works in conjunction with elementary schools and offers 4th, 5th, and 6th graders the opportunity to learn the complicated business of finance and investment. It is connected with Young Americans Bank, which teaches children and teenagers how to save and manage their money. I don’t really know much about the program, except that those grandkids who participated in the program loved it and left the experience feeling enthusiastic about the wonderful world of business and finance……

Kaiya recently participated in Ameritowne. She interviewed and was hired as a network news reporter. Who wouldn’t hire this professional looking young writer?

I could be the spoil-sport and tell them that the real world of finance isn’t nearly as simple as Ameritowne makes it seem; alas, they will likely learn that soon enough. But their experience got me to thinking about how I learned to manage my money.

I started working at my dad and mom’s bakery when I was 14 years old. Of course, I helped out at a far younger age, but at 14, I had a work schedule with specific hours. Even more important, I received a regular paycheck just like all of Dad’s other workers. The days of Mom pulling a few dollar bills out of the cash register and giving them to me to go buy my 45s or treat myself to an ice cream soda at Tooley’s Drug Store were over. I had my own money.

Almost immediately, Mom marched me down to the bank on the corner to open a savings account. I suspect I got a lecture on the importance of saving money all of the way down the block.

And I did, in fact, save my money. I’m not fibbing when I tell you that I have had — without a single break — a savings account since I was 14 years old. For whatever reason, that need to have money tucked away safely in a bank has stuck with me. Even now, when the interest I earn on my savings is quite literally mere pennies, if my savings account gets below a specific amount that I have set in my head, I am not comfortable until I have covered the difference.

I’ve never asked Bill his savings accounts experience. I know he has had his own savings account since we have been married. But I also know that he and I differ in one specific way when it comes to our finances. Bill is debt-averse. He will do whatever he can to pay off debt. It’s how and why we paid off our mortgage in nine years. Who does that? And I’m glad we did.

But we have had many conversations about whether or not we should use savings to pay off debts. He says yes; I say gulp.

He’s a product of his father, who refused to purchase a house until such time as he had the cash to buy it outright. I am a product of parent who walked me to the bank as soon as I had a cash-paying job so I could open a savings account.

We didn’t have Ameritowne to help us learn about business and finance. But we had our parents.

I’ve never been athletic. I’m not being modest; it’s God’s own truth. In elementary school, when we played baseball at recess, I was always the last one picked, and the team that was stuck with me tried their very best not to look too disappointed. It was a Catholic school, after all, and we were taught that we are all God’s precious children. Some can just get a bat to meet the ball better than others.

As I moved through my school years, I never (ever) got a ball over the volleyball net in a serve in high school PE class. I was unsuccessful at dodging the dodgeball. I barely passed the golf class I chose as my mandatory PE selection in college, and I can thank my dad for my C- grade because he helped me fudge my scorecard in the final exam (which was a game of golf). I hope he didn’t get a few more years in purgatory as a result.

As an adult, for a while, I ran three miles a day, five days a week. I actually did that for a few years; however, I think it’s safe to say that I didn’t enjoy one single minute of one single run. I remember getting through the run by counting the steps by 50, knowing that each step I took was one step closer to being finished with that day’s run. I’m pretty sure I never felt that rush of adrenaline that everyone talks about getting about a mile or so into the run. For me, a mile or so into the run just had me sucking air.

I guess it’s safe to say that I just don’t like exercise.

And yet, I’m well aware that exercise is as important now as it was when I was 30 years old and pounding the pavement. I no longer exercise with any thought that it will help me lose weight. Since one’s metabolism slows down as one ages, I would have to run from Denver to Fort Collins to burn even a few calories. There are donut shops a lot closer than Fort Collins.

Yesterday morning, I gave myself a pep talk and managed to put on some yoga pants (that have never seen one yoga move), reached for my Nordic sticks, stuck my ear buds into my ears, cranked up Keith Urban, and walked two full miles. Woo-hoo. Still, it’s a start.

There is a trail in Denver that runs some 70 miles, meandering back and forth, winding around the metro area from Aurora to the north, down to somewhere in the neighborhoods of Highlands Ranch to the south. Parts of the trail are asphalt, parts of the trail are concrete, and parts of the trail are dirt. That’s where I walked this morning. The part of the trail on which I trod is dirt because, among its many uses, the rich people who live in Cherry Hills Village (the community through which this part of the trail winds) own horses. I’ve spent plenty of time on that part of the trail in my life, and I’ve never seen a single horse or even a single horse dropping, but it’s there just in case someone has the urge to trot Zorro to a polo match.

Every time I walk that trail, I am struck by how I can be literally in the middle of a major urban city, and yet it feels like I’m in the country. I took time from my rhythmic walking to John Cougar John Deere John 3:16 to shoot this photo…..

Not another soul — and certainly not a single horse — to be found on that beautiful spring morning.

Maybe that beautiful scenery will convince me to walk more regularly. But I assure you I still won’t like it.

Hey Cuz!
I got a Facebook message from Bill’s brother the other day in which he told me that his son Edward was going to be in Denver for business and would like to see us. This led to that, and Edward joined us for dinner at Dave and Jll’s house Tuesday night. He lives in Birmingham, Alabama, with his wife and three boys — a 10 year old and 7-year-old twins. It was fun to see him again, and gathering family together always makes my heart happy…..

Four handsome McLain men: Allen, Edward, and Dave, with Bill standing sentry behind.

Hello Friend
Yesterday I had lunch with a friend that I hadn’t seen in nearly 30 years. We worked together back then, and though we kept in touch for a while, life happened and we drifted apart. We reunited once again thanks to Facebook. See, there are some positive things that come from social media. Like having lunch with my friend Cori after all this time. Funny thing was, we talked as though we had seen each other just last week…..

Kaboom!
About the time I last saw Cori, Bill and I purchased our grill from Sam’s Club. We got years and years of grilling from Ol’ Faithful. The numbers on the dials had worn off, but I could live with that. What I couldn’t live with was the fact that we were having trouble getting it to light up when we returned from AZ. After the second time it blew up as we tried to fire it up (and Court nearly lost his eyebrows), I decided perhaps a new grill was in order. I heard my late brother-in-law Terry’s voice in my head telling me that you couldn’t go wrong with a Weber. Bill and I went to Home Depot and bought one a few days ago. Because of the funny weather pattern which brings heavy rainstorms each afternoon, I haven’t had much of a chance to use it. However, last night the rainstorms passed us by, and I grilled turkey legs. They were delicious, and my grill is awesome…..

Snow-in-Summer
And speaking of awesome, my Snow-in-Summer plant is beginning to bloom. Next to my peonies, that plant is about my favorite. It doesn’t last long, but I enjoy it ever so much when it’s blooming…..

Bill went on a rampage a few weeks ago while cleaning up the pond area, getting rid of anything he didn’t like. I’m thankful this plant made the cut.

Ciao!

I just finished reading a book by author Rick Bragg, called The Best Cook in the World: Tales from My Momma’s Table. No, this isn’t going to be book review (although I will tell you that I enjoyed the book tremendously). It is, however, going to be about bringing families and friends together over a table of food.

It isn’t necessarily true that everybody thinks their mother’s cooking is the best. There are moms who can’t cook a lick. They probably don’t like to cook, and perhaps their moms didn’t like to cook either. Still, most of us are used to eating meat loaf or fried chicken or vegetable beef soup the way our moms prepared it. I do, anyway. You need to throw a beef shank into a bowl of vegetable soup before you can call it vegetable beef soup. I’m firm on that.

And before anyone gets up in arms, yes, I realize that men cook too. I’m sure there were even fathers of those of us in the Baby Boomer generation who cooked, though I would venture to say that was somewhat unusual. Times have changed; in fact, times had changed even when my son was born. It wasn’t unusual for Court’s dad to make dinner.

But mostly what I got out of the above-referenced book was the importance his family placed on preparing food as part of gathering together friends and family. That was certainly the way I was brought up. It wasn’t simply cooking; it was feeding those you love. It was gathering together and saying grace and laughing and talking as the food is passed around the table.

I come from a long line of good cooks from both sides of my family. I have memories of many meals prepared by a lot of wonderful cooks. I especially remember holidays and summer gatherings of all sorts. There would be turkey and dressing, or fried chicken and potato salad and homemade three-day dill pickles and coleslaw and cookies and brownies, all washed own with beer or pop, and made better by the sounds of laughter.

My mother (far right), with her sisters (l-r) Ann, Vicky, and Clare.

Bill slices up one of about a million turkeys he’s carved over the years.

My nephew Erik carves one of the many prime ribs prepared by Beckie on New Year’s Day.

I learned to cook from watching my mom prepare dinner every single night. I not only learned to cook, I learned the importance of feeding those we care about. When I heard that my friend had passed away last week, the first thing I did was begin to prepare food. Without even giving it a thought, I looked in my refrigerator and my pantry and figured out that I had the ingredients to make a bacon and spinach quiche and a pan of brownies. It’s how I roll. It’s what I learned from my family of great cooks.

My siblings and I share a love for cooking…..

…..and our need to provide fellowship over plates of food was passed on to our kids……