Author Archives: kzmclain

M-I-C, K-E-Y, M-O-U-S-E

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While our family went on vacation every year, my childhood remained somewhat unfulfilled because we never went to Disneyland. To be fair, Disneyland wasn’t anything more than a little spark in Walt Disney’s imagination until the early 1950s, and it didn’t open for business until July 1955. Since I wasn’t born until December of 1953, and using the theory that you shouldn’t take kids to Disneyland at too young an age because they won’t remember it anyway, I’ll give my mom and dad a pass. I’ll blame my personality shortcomings on a terrifying horseback ride when I was 10 instead of a lack of opportunity for a youthful bonding with Mickey.

I did, however, love to watch the Mickey Mouse Show, featuring Annette Funicello (who made boys pant and girls jealous) and Bobby Burgess (who later went on to breaking hearts on the Lawrence Welk Show. In more recent years, most of my grandkids and great nieces and nephews got hooked on a newer, updated Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, and the gang. The theme song of the new version was stuck in my head many a night, but watching “Mi Mow” was a great way to distract Cole when he was 2.

In fact, I didn’t visit the Magic Kingdom until Court and I went to visit my girlfriend who at that time lived in Orlando. Court was probably about 5, and we went to Disney World. I guess it’s safe to say that I was hooked from the get-go.

Back in those days, Disney World offered the Magic Kingdom and Epcot. Period. That was plenty, however. You had your joyful fun and adventures at the Magic Kingdom, and then you had your stab at something a bit more educational at Epcot. I will never forget the first time we visited the World Showcase, giving guests a feeling of traveling around the world. Food-wise, we never really got past Germany, because Bratwurst. But hearing the mariachi band in Mexico and seeing the red phone booths in the UK made me feel positively worldly.

Since that time, I have visited Disneyland maybe two or three times, and Disney World maybe another couple of times. I had the good sense to marry someone who — much to everyone’s surprise — loves Disneyland too. And I have clearly passed on my love for All Things Disney to Court, as he has visited both Disneyland and Disney World a number of times, even as an adult. In fact, when he graduated from high school, as part of his graduation gift, I told him I would take him anywhere in the continental United States – along with his cousin B.J. Anywhere. San Francisco. New York City. Los Angeles or Dallas or Atlanta. He chose Disney World. That’s my boy. He has taken his three kids to Disneyland twice, and yesterday, they left for Disney World.

I drove with them to the airport at – quite literally – the crack of dawn, so that I could drive their car back to their house. The three kids were quietly excited. Five days of sunny Florida weather (except for occasional rainstorms), visits with Mickey and Minnie and (my personal favorite) Figment, a long-standard at Epcot, swimming and water slides, fireworks, and parades.

Fingers crossed that they don’t run into an alligator. And I’m not kidding.

At the same time the Zierks are heading east, my McLain grands are driving (with their parents) west towards Alaska. And what with my two boys living in Vermont, I am – for the first time in a very long time – grandchildless in Denver. I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

Maybe I’ll watch Beauty and the Beast or Mary Poppins. It’s the least I can do…..

 

Welcome to Her Frontier

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I always tell people that I grew up in a small town in Nebraska. The town where I spent my formative years had somewhere around 10 or 12 thousand citizens – give or take – when I lived there. Population specifics don’t really matter, however, because what I learned during my recent trip to Oklahoma is that Columbus, Nebraska, wasn’t really Small Town America.

Pawhuska, Oklahoma, is Small Town America…..

When you see little towns portrayed on television, they are generally lovely little communities with thriving small businesses adorned with striped awnings and flower boxes, and friendly people who greet one another with smiles and waves. In real life America – especially in rural areas in the bread basket of the United States — small towns are almost always sort of sad-looking, with crumbling abandoned buildings, and struggling businesses, there only out of a vital need. You know, grocery stores, hardware stores, a saloon or two.

I imagine that is the way Pawhuska, Oklahoma, looked three or four years ago. But no longer, thanks to renowned blogger and Food Network star Ree Drummond and her husband Ladd. Ladd Drummond grew up on his family’s ranch outside of this northern Oklahoma town. His ranch – which has likely been in his family for decades — consists of literally hundreds of thousands of acres of land, and innumerable heads of cattle.

At some point a few years ago Ladd and Ree decided that it was time to breathe some life into their little rural community. I don’t know who said the words first, but one of them said to the other, “Let’s revitalize Pawhuska.”

They purchased a building that was crumbling, and breathed life back into it. Their efforts – and money – has resulted in The Mercantile, a store so bright and cheerful and full of life that it nearly hurts your eyes. It certainly takes a toll on your pocketbook. And trust me when I tell you that there are very many pocketbooks in the Merc on any given day, and the people carrying those pocketbooks are spending lots of money. What’s more, they’re having fun, and little Pawhuska is the beneficiary…..

Being great fans of The Pioneer Woman, which is the moniker by which Ree Drummond is most well-known, Jen and I checked off a bucket list item last week and paid the Merc a visit. We flew into Tulsa, and drove to Bartlesville, which is the nearest sizeable town to Pawhuska, where we bedded down for the night. The next day (and half of the day after), we lived and breathed All Things Pioneer Woman.

We drank the delicious coffee, including a wonderful concoction called the Spicy Cowgirl. It is a blend of strong coffee, chocolate, and rich vanilla cream whipped into a frenzy and served over ice. The sassy beverage is served over tiny ice cubes that magically don’t melt, and finished off with a sprinkling of cayenne pepper……

Other treats we enjoyed included cinnamon rolls sprinkled with crackling cinnamon sugar that the Merc Bakery calls sugar buns, and Jen enjoyed a pancake breakfast with a variety of syrup choices, including orange clove, vanilla, and caramel that I wanted to eat with a spoon.

One of the things we most wanted to do was take a tour of the Lodge, and we were able to do so the first morning. The Lodge is where the Food Network program The Pioneer Woman is filmed. It takes about 30 minutes to drive to the Lodge, and you drive by the Drummond ranch on the way…..

 

And let me tell you, what you see on her television program when she’s driving into town isn’t fake news. The road to the Lodge is gravel, and requires slow speeds and great concentration…..

According to a woman whose job was to make sure visitors didn’t make off with the silver, the Lodge had been built some years ago to provide a place for people visiting the ranch to stay. The kitchen was added about the same time that the show began appearing on FN. It was great fun to see the place in which we watch Ree cook each week; however, the really fun part was that, as we walked around the Lodge, we came upon the place where the cooking is actually done…..

Ree’s television kitchen (l) and the working kitchen (r). Notice the pots and pans, which look just like mine.

I will admit to being tickled by the fact that the enviable Pioneer Woman’s pantry stays so clean because there is a REAL pantry behind the scenes…..

The Drummonds haven’t ended the revitalization of Pawhuska with only the Mercantile. They recently opened an eight-bedroom boutique hotel that we also were able to tour. The hotel is adjacent to the Merc, and part of the building that they rehabbed. There are two floors of four rooms each. Ladd supposedly was responsible for decorating the third floor while Ree gave the second floor her touch. The difference in styles was notable. But even more impressive was the fact that as the work began on the rehab, they unexpectedly came across an amazing mural that was decades old and part of the original pharmacy. Rather than painting over the mural, they painstakingly cleaned the mural and left it as part of the wall decoration…..

The Merc’s food was amazing, and served by the nicest people you could ever hope to meet….

Jen and I split a spinach salad and brisket that was so tender there was no need for a knife.

Who wouldn’t enjoy this delicious skillet that was tasty and had just the right amount of kick?

It’s astounding to think about the number of people being employed — both as staff, and as construction workers as the rehab efforts continue. They have a pizza place scheduled to open any second now that is in a building across the street. There are also plans for a steak house and a saloon. The economic boosts just keep on coming.

In fact, now that the Drummonds have started their revitalization efforts, investors in a building across the street plan on opening a 20-unit hotel in July…..

Me, being of a nervous nature, can’t help but wonder what will happen if and when the Pioneer Woman brand goes south. As well-planned and well-run as everything is, I am keeping my fingers crossed that there are long-term plans as well.

In the meantime, we enjoyed our little two-day adventure very much, especially the Ladd-sighting that we had one morning at breakfast. It was nice to see that the Drummonds actually maintain a presence.

As for Jen and me, on to our next adventures…..

The view from the Lodge in our background.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

 

 

Saturday Smile: Small Town America

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If you looked up Small Town America in the dictionary, you are liable to see a photo of Pawhuska, Oklahoma. Pawhuska is a very small town in northern Oklahoma. It is so close to the Oklahoma state line that you could practically throw a stone into Kansas. Jen and I spent a couple of days this past week in this little town for crazy reasons about which I will explain next week.

In addition to being a perfect example of Small Town America, Pawhuska is also the headquarters for the Osage Nation, giving it a true western flavor. As we made our way around this community (and it doesn’t take long to get from one side of town to the other), we ran into a few things that tickled our funny bones…..

In Cattle Country, which defines this part of Oklahoma, you’d better have a beef-sounding name, even if you’re serving pork.

While it’s referred to as the ORIGINAL, I’m pretty sure there aren’t a lot of offshoots.

Hail to the cow! And the piano, I guess.

These aren’t the election signs we’re used to seeing. They are common, however, in the Osage Nation.

Such a deal!

As the two of us drove around in our rental car, whenever we would connect our iPhones to charge it up, the radio would come on and play a song from one of our playlists (depending on whose phone we were using). So, from my phone, here is the song that kept popping up as we were driving around the prairies of Pawhuska…..

Not only was it Christmas music, but it was sung by Bing Crosby. Yes, people, it’s true. I listen to Bing Crosby at Christmas time. Neither one of us wanted to listen to it in June in Oklahoma, however.

Oh Bing. Oh Nana.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Book of Polly

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Having (thankfully) not had the angst so typical between teenage girls and their mothers, I generally have little interest in reading coming-of-age books. There have been a few exceptions. For example, Tell the Wolves I’m Home, by Carol Rifka Brunt, was one of the best books I read in 2013. (That reminds me; I should reread.)

I made an exception also for The Book of Polly, by Kathy Hepinstall, quite simply (I’m somewhat embarrassed to say) because of its title. How can that title not intrigue a reader? The book was wonderful, even beyond its title.

When the book begins, Willow is 10 years old. Her mother, Polly, gave birth to her when she was in her late 50s – a miracle birth of sorts. Willow’s father died while Polly was pregnant, so she never knew him. But with an older mother and no father, Willow lives in fear that her mother will die and leave her all alone.

As for Polly, she is a feisty southern woman who lives for gardening, her margaritas, and her daughter. Despite her love for Willow, she is tough as nails, recognizing that she has to prepare her for a world without her in it for much of Willow’s life.

Willow’s fear of losing her mother leads to her beginning to search for clues about her mother’s past, a search that takes several years. Polly has no interest in sharing her secrets with her daughter, leaving Willow to wonder why her mother left her small town in Louisiana and why she refuses to talk about it. It isn’t until tragedy strikes that she agrees to take Willow back to her home town.

The Book of Polly is sad in parts, and laugh-out-loud in other parts. Its characters are likeable and mostly believable, if somewhat bigger than life. Polly quickly became one of my favorite book characters in recent memory.

The ending was satisfying, something that can make or break a book for this reader.

Treat yourself to this poignant story of love.

Here is a link to the book.

First Time

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When was the last time you did something for the first time?
Yeah, let yourself go, follow that feeling
Maybe something new is what you’re needing
Like a real life, let your hair down, feel alive
When was the last time you did something for the first time? – Darius Rucker

Before we even got back to Colorado, I had begun thinking about my summer. I decided that I was going to issue two edicts to myself when we returned to Denver. The first was that I was going to make my summer work easy. My days of pulling hoses around the yard are over, as I tripped over the hose too many times last year.  This meant that I changed the foliage in our front yard to drought-friendly plants. My flowering plants now are in the back yard where they are easier to manage.

The second edict I issued to myself was to take the words of Darius Rucker’s song to heart: When was the last time I did something for the first time.

I don’t know exactly what this means, but – as they say – I’ll know it when I see it. As a matter of fact, we’ve already started. A couple of weeks ago, we got tickets to see a comedian at the Comedy Works. Bill and I both like comedy. Bill, in particular, loves watching good comedy specials on television or via Netflix. Netflix, in fact, is where we came across the comic we saw – Nate Bargatze. By the way, should he visit a comedy club near you, get tickets. He’s family friendly and funny as hell. We both literally laughed until our sides hurt.

We also have arranged to do something in which we have been interested for some time. In July, we are boarding an Amtrak train and taking the California Zephyr to San Francisco, where we will meet up with Dave and Jll and the kids who, as you know, are driving around the western United States in an RV. I am always eagerly optimistic about train travel, never failing to picture Hercule Poirot in a tux in the dining car. My limited U.S. train experience thus far hasn’t met those expectations. Still, it may happen this time. We have a sleeping car arranged, which includes our meals in the dining car. We won’t go so far as to put on a tux or a gown, but we nevertheless have high expectations.

We are tentatively planning on traveling with the McLains from San Francisco to Lake Tahoe, and will board an airplane to return to Denver. By the way, the McLains are unaware of any of this, so if they are reading my blog, well….. Their itinerary may change!

I can count the number of big concerts I have attended in my life on two hands (maybe one, sigh). But a few months ago, Jen called me and said, “Would you and Bill like to go see Keith Urban at Fiddler’s Green in July?”

It only took a few beats before I said, “Hell to the yes!” I am packing my flat vodka pack and Bic lighters as soon as I finish this blog.

Finally, as you read this blog post, I am busily doing what is perhaps the kookiest thing I will do all summer. Jen and I are flying today to Tulsa, Oklahoma – where the wind comes sweeping down the plain – and getting in a rental car to drive to Bartlesville, Oklahoma. Tomorrow morning, we will drive to Pawhuska, Oklahoma, where The Pioneer Woman lives, films her Food Network television show, and operates her store called The Merc. We will spend the day shopping at The Merc, taking a tour of The Lodge, from where her TV show is filmed, and being all-around cowgirls-for-a-day. We will return to Colorado Thursday night.

When I question my sanity, I remind myself about doing something for the first time.

Stay tuned for stories about our adventures. In the meantime, Nana’s Whimsies will not be posted for a couple of days. See you on Friday.

And ask yourself, when was the last time you did something for the first time.

Messy Kitchen

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I wanna thank you Lord,
For noisy children and slamming doors,
And clothes scattered all over the floor
My never ending messy kitchen
And dirty dishes.
Noisy kids are happy kids,
And slamming doors just means we live
In a warm and loving home
Your long hours and those dishes in the sink
Means a job and enough to eat. – excerpted from Dirty Dishes, by Scotty McCreery

I love to open up Pinterest and see just what it is in which they think I’m interested on any given day. For a long time, Pinterest was offering me suggestion after suggestion about how to build chicken coops and what is the best thing to feed your chickens. I found these posts particularly puzzling because the closest I’ve ever gotten to looking into raising chickens is perusing recipes for frying them.

More recently, Pinterest has apparently decided I’m looking for creative ways to wear a pony tail, interesting in that my hair has been like this…..

…..for at least two decades. Should I ever try to wear a pony tail, it would be like the two little sprouts you see on some 18-month-old girls.

But recently, what popped up was a post entitled 10 Tips for Cooking All Day Without Making a Mess. The title struck me for a couple of reasons: 1) I wonder when I last cooked all day; and 2) I quite literally can’t cook for 15 minutes without making a mess. So, I bit. I clicked on the link.

The author of the article started out by saying Cooking all day is fun! (No, it isn’t.) Especially if it’s blizzarding outside. (Still no. If it’s blizzarding, I want to curl up in front of my fireplace and read Agatha Christie.)

But, by that time, she’d hooked me, so I kept reading to glean the tips to cooking without a mess.

Suggestion 1: Start with a clean kitchen.
So, here’s the problem. My kitchen is never clean. There are always dishes in my sink. My coffee cup stays on the kitchen table where I left it after breakfast until I get ready to set the table for dinner when I finally put it in the sink. So, see above: there are always dishes in my sink. The bread I pulled out of the bread box to make toast might not make it back into the bread box for three or four days. The toaster crumbs don’t get swept up until I finally break down and wipe off the sink when it becomes so sticky from the jam on the toast that the napkin sticks to the counter.

Suggestion 2: Make a game plan before you start.
She suggests that you plan all your meals for the day, and then chop all of the vegetables, zest all of the citrus fruit, cut all of the meat, and measure all of the sugar or flour for all of the dishes that you will be preparing that day. Such a great idea, but seriously? I generally don’t know what I’m making for the next meal until about 20 minutes before it’s time to eat. Unfortunately, my lack of planning not only prevents me from chopping all of my veggies for the day, but requires about three trips each day to the grocery store.

Suggestion 3. Pick the right tools for the job.
Her example is to make sure you use the right sized bowl for the job so that you don’t have to switch bowls halfway through, thereby resulting in dirtying two bowls. Another good idea, and one which I seem completely unable to embrace. I seriously say — OUT LOUD TO MYSELF — at least three times a week, “Kris, do you think you get a prize for using the smallest bowl/baking pan/skillet?” as I dump ingredients into a larger container.

Suggestion 4. Have canisters large enough to fit your measuring cups.
I have that one nailed. I’m dying, however, to buy one of the two-cup measuring cups that The Pioneer Woman uses, thereby rendering my canisters too small.

Suggestion 5. Measure over the sink.
My sink is filled with dishes.

Suggestion 6. Use a plate as a giant spoon rest.
Great idea. Then you can use it to hold measuring spoons, knives, and so forth, resulting in clean counters. Except see above: My counters are never clean.

Suggestions 7 and 8. Aluminum foil and garbage bowl.
Done and done.

Suggestion 9. Tidy up as you go.
Really? I’d be happy if I just remembered to close the cupboard doors. That way I wouldn’t hit my head quite as often.

Suggestion 10. Schedule cleaning breaks.
The thought makes me tired. Maybe I should schedule nap breaks.

The reality is that I am truly a very messy cook. I spill. I really do leave cupboard doors open. The food on the floor by my feet looks like what I would feed my chickens if I did, in fact, have a chicken coop as Pinterests suspects. My Roomba works way harder than I. Still, most of the time, I wouldn’t be too awfully horrified to have someone drop by.

As Scotty McCreery said, dirty dishes and a messy kitchen are the signs of a happy home.

This post linked to Grand Social.

Saturday Smile: He Would Never Pull Jen Out of the Well

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Among many things that made me smile this week was a lunch with four of my favorite people: my husband, my sister Jen, my nephew B.J., and my stepmother Shirley. We don’t see Shirley as often as I would like, for no good reason whatsoever, as she only lives 60 minutes north of us. But we made up for it by enjoying lunch at 3 Margaritas in Fort Collins on Thursday, where we caught up, laughed, and solved the problems of the world. Perhaps the funniest story we heard was that the fence between Jen’s house and her neighbors to the north blew down in one of Fort Collins heavy windstorms. At some point that evening, she began looking for her Bijon Frise Tucker (also known as Mr. Shenanigans). She finally found him comfortably sleeping on her neighbor’s patio. So much for a loyal dog/friend.

Our lunch gang should meet more often…..

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb: A Novel

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I will be completely honest here. I didn’t even know that Tom Thumb was a real person. As far as I knew, Tom Thumb was no more than the character in a book of old fairy tales that was on the bottom shelf of our bookshelf when I was growing up. So I certainly didn’t know that there was a Mrs. Tom Thumb.

Author Melanie Benjamin has fictionalized the life stories of a number of famous people, including Anne Morrow Lindbergh (the wife of famed aviator Charles Lindbergh, and herself an author and aviator) in The Aviator’s Wife;  and Hollywood legends Mary Pickford and Frances Marion in The Girls in the Picture. Benjamin seems to do a very good job of researching her characters, at least based on the information I gleaned from Wikipedia as a read The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb: A Novel.

Mercy Lavinia Warren Bump was born in Massachusetts in 1841. She was one of two daughters born to loving parents. She was exceptional in that she was 2.66 feet tall and weighed 29 lbs. as an adult. She was what is referred to as a proportionate dwarf, meaning that while extremely small, her extremities were proportionate to her size. Her sister Minnie was even tinier.

It being the mid-1800s, opportunities for all women were scarce, and for a woman the size of a large doll, the prospects would seem to be even direr. Nevertheless, she became a teacher, and was quite successful. And yet, she was bored with her life. Her desire to travel took her down an unfortunate road until she met the famed showman P.T. Barnum. Barnum had already made a very successful career for Charles Sherwood Stratton, better known as General Tom Thumb, and also a proportionate dwarf.

The two eventually fell in love and married, in what was the wedding of the year in New York City. The story of their fame, their career, their relationship to Barnum, and their life in the spotlight was ABSOLUTELY FASCINATING. I simply couldn’t put the book down. I was grateful to be reading the novel as an e-book because I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I stopped to look up some information about Lavinia Warren (which became her stage name), Gen. Tom Thumb, P.T. Barnum, and the other performers who they loved like family. The most amazing thing about their lives was how their fame allowed them to rub shoulders with high society in 1900 New York City.

I read the book just before seeing the The Greatest Showman – the movie about P.T. Barnum – and it was fun to be familiar with some of the characters in that movie.

I heartily recommend The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb: A Novel. While it is important to keep in mind that it is fiction, the book was wonderfully researched and incredibly readable.

Here is a link to the book.

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.