Author Archives: kzmclain

Was Norman Bates Second Born?

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I came across a study recently that caught my attention. Not one to be overly concerned about birth order, I normally wouldn’t even bother to read the article that cited the study. But here was the headline:

SECOND BORN KIDS MORE LIKELY TO BECOME CRIMINALS, STUDY FINDS.

So, for obvious reasons, I felt this story about birth order warranted a gander from this second born kid.

It wasn’t even like the story was out of National Enquirer. It came from National Public Radio, and the study was conducted by some economists from MIT (all undoubtedly either bossy first-borns or youngest kids looking for attention). The study looked at second borns in Florida and Denmark. Florida and Denmark? I wonder why they didn’t look at second borns in South Dakota and Romania, or maybe Kentucky and the Netherlands. Why did they pick Florida and Denmark? But I am getting distracted.

Apparently these second-born Floridians and Danes are somewhere in the neighborhood of 25 to 40 percent more likely to commit serious crimes or cause other kinds of unlawful mayhem. While first-borns have higher IQs, perform better in school, and earn higher salaries, second borns are earning crappy grades and barely making a living.

The reason for this apparent contrast according to these first-born economists? Parents are focusing all of their attention on their first-born child and sending the second born kid out to search for scraps. Just be home before dark so that you don’t disturb your brother or sister. Well, I might be exaggerating their findings a bit. But the gist of what I just said is true. They say the parents are less vigilant with their second-born child because they want to make sure their first born prince or princess is excelling in school, taking music lessons from a maestro, and being tutored by an MIT economist. Again, I might be exaggerating a bit.

But this part is true: The study author said that “the role models of the eldest child are his or her doting parents while the role model for the second-born is a spoiled older sibling.”

While I can’t vouch for every second born in the world, I can tell you unequivocally that I AM NOT A CRIMINAL. Despite my blog post on Monday about how I am a pretty good liar, I am unceasingly honest unless there is a surprise party involved or someone asks me if these pants make them look fat. When I applied for a job at Circle K in Denver when I was 20 years old, I had to take a lie detector test. (Now that I think about it, I wonder if that test was only given to second borns….). Anyway, I passed with flying colors. They even directly asked “Have you ever stolen anything while at work?”. I could quite honestly answer no to that question. It’s true that up until that point, I had worked only for my dad at the bakery and he would have kicked my butt if I had stolen money (how are we going to pay for your older sister’s ballet lessons from Anna Pavlova if you steal money from us?)

And I certainly have never killed anyone. The closest I have ever come was when I chased my sister Jen around the house with a butcher knife when I was 10 and she was 6. Perhaps I’m lucky that she ran so fast or I might be supporting the MIT first-borns’ clinical study results. But since the study didn’t say anything about third-borns, I can only assume that they are more likely to be killed by their second born sibling, and perhaps deserve it.

The headline for the next clinical study conducted by MIT will be:

THIRD BORN KIDS MORE LIKELY TO TORTURE THEIR FOURTH-BORN BROTHER OR SISTER, BECAUSE BY THIS TIME PARENTS HAVE COMPLETELY CLOCKED OUT.

Just sayin’…..

And, for the record, here are faces of some of my favorite second-borns, none of whom are criminals…..

Alastair, Mylee, Micah — all second borns. Well, technically Mylee is a third-born, but her oldest sibling is 15 years older. I think she counts as a second born.

Bec’s second-born Kate (Jojo), Dave’s second-born Kacy, and Jen’s second born Benjamin Joseph. No criminals.

Oh, and two really good second borns. Neither Bill nor Lilly have a criminal record.

I could go on and on…but I won’t. I have to run to the store and steal some Italian sausage.

Melody of Love

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Hold me in your arms dear – dream with me,
Cradled by your kisses – tenderly,
While a choir of angels – from above
Sing our melody of love. – H. Englemann/T. Glazer, sung by Frank Sinatra

Bill and I ate lunch yesterday at Oregano’s, his favorite pizza place here in AZ. The next best pizza to Fox’s, according to the Chicago native who is my husband. Could be. Anyway, though there are a number of Oregano’s restaurants around the city, every single one of them is busy all of the time. That’s okay. It’s worth the wait.

Busy often equates to noisy, and as we age, noise becomes a bit more of a problem. But neither too many customers nor noise were a problem yesterday, mostly because we got there when they first opened. When they unlocked the door, our noses were pressed up against it so that we nearly fell in. Not really, but frankly, it was almost that bad. The pizza ovens hadn’t even gotten hot.

We were led to a table (and let me assure you that there were a few other 60- and 70-somethings already seated), and the server took our order – a 12-inch sausage pizza, a big salad, and two diet Pepsi’s. Because what else?

Oregano’s has a schtick, and it’s part of the fun. Overhead on small-screen black and white televisions they are always playing either some sort of old romantic musical featuring a 20-year-old Frank Sinatra, an episode of The Lone Ranger, or an episode of The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. But the televisions are on mute, because overhead from the speakers come the sounds of Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin or Perry Como or Rosemary Clooney.

And here’s the thing: I know the words to almost every song. As I’ve said before, I mistakenly use every one of my grandkids’ names before I get to the right one, but I can sing I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck though you make my heart a wreck. You make my heart a wreck and you make my life a mess. Make my life a mess, yes a mess of happiness…. And so forth.

Right near our table sat a huge radio, the kind that folks listened to before RCA televisions began making their appearances in American homes…..

Bill reminisced about how he listened to the radio before they got a TV, though he admitted that mostly he was interested in playing outside with his friends.

That made me start thinking about the radio that sat on my mom’s kitchen counter when I grew up in Columbus. As she would prepare meals, or sweep the kitchen floor, or put groceries away, or dust the living room tables, she always had the radio turned on, tuned to KFAB radio out of Omaha. And she listened to music from the likes of Dinah Shore and Peggy Lee and Nat King Cole and Tony Bennett and Doris Day and Eydie Gorme and Robert Goulet. And later in the 50s, maybe Bobby Vinton or Connie Stevens.

I don’t recall whether or not she sang along to the tunes. But what I do know is that somehow all of those lyrics from all of those songs that were playing in the background as I ran in and out of the house, or maybe as I did my chores, have stuck in my head all of these years. That’s likely why I have all of those lyrics in my head, even when I can’t remember where I put my purse.

Blue moon,
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own.
Blue moon,
You knew just what I was there for
You heard me saying a prayer for
Someone I really could care for.

I’m afraid I remember more song lyrics than answers to my Baltimore Catechism questions. But that’s okay, because they simply don’t write lyrics like those anymore.

Those Lying Eyes

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I learned something somewhat troubling about myself this past week. I’m a hell of a good liar.

The good news is that normally I don’t lie. I almost always tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. The only exceptions are those white lies told in answer to questions like do these pants make me look fat, to which the answer is always either nope or look, it’s Haley’s Comet.

But this past week-and-a-half, I have been a big fat liar because I decided that since turning 75 is a big deal, Bill needed to have one last birthday party with our AZ family. And I decided to make this party a surprise. Undoubtedly, surprising him would have been a lot more difficult if his birthday had been this past week. But his birthday was October 19, a date long behind us, and once you turn 60, birthdays are quickly forgotten. So are grandkids’ names and the location of your glasses or cell phone, even if they’re in your hand.

The first thing I did was ask Bec if she would be willing to host the family for a shindig in honor of Bill, and she quickly agreed. That agreement took place when we were still in Denver, and we had a number of subsequent and secret telephone conversations, some while I was simply parked down the street from our house. I’m probably on Homeland Security’s short list by now.

The actual lying didn’t begin until we arrived in AZ. We arrived on Monday, and on Thursday I told Bill since I hadn’t yet seen my sister Bec, would he mind if I met her for a cup of coffee. I think I might have even worked up a few tears in my eyes. Since at that point he was still cleaning up the yard, my absence barely registered with him.

We did, in fact, have coffee, and I truly hadn’t yet seen her, so that really wasn’t a lie, right?

Anyway, we made our firm plans on the menu and the logistics. I would tell Bill that Bec had invited us for dinner Saturday night. The rest of the gang would arrive at her house at 3:30, and we would arrive at 4 or 4:15. I would text her when we left the house, and then again when we were about 10 minutes from her place.

On Friday, I told Bill that I had a book club meeting in Chandler, and set off for Bec’s house. Oh what a tangled web we weave. Bec and I, in fact, spent about three hours buying party favors, decorations, food, and beverages. We might have discussed a book at some point, so it wasn’t a total lie.

On Saturday morning, Bill asked what time we were supposed to be at Bec’s. I told him 4 or 4:15. But around 2 o’clock, our best-laid plans became threatened.

“What time do you think we should leave?” Bill asked me. “How about we leave around 3 or 3:15?”

Gulp, because that would get us there around 3:30, right at the same time as the others. I briefly considered simply telling him the truth, but instead I told him that there was no need to go that early because Bec was at Carter’s soccer game until at least 4. That seemed to satisfy him. Good liars think quickly on their feet.

And then around 3:15, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “You don’t mind driving, do you? I’m going to have a beer.”

Now, the truth of the matter is I normally don’t mind driving one little bit. But even if it were legal to text and drive, I am simply unable to do so. So (and here is when I realized just how adept at lying I was), I agreed to drive, while, at the same time texting Bec Code Black, Code Black. A change in plans.

I told her that I was driving, so instead of texting, I would call her and innocently ask, “Are you at home?” That would be her clue that we were pulling off the freeway and 10 minutes out.

As we pulled off the 202, I asked Bill to hand me my phone so that I could call Bec to make sure she was home. Bill, being the ever-helpful soul that he is, simply called her himself.

Please don’t answer with something like Surprise Party Central, I thought to myself. She didn’t, of course. But she was surprised to hear his voice, and she was somewhat concerned about all of the background noise, what with all of the kids. Turns out, he didn’t even notice.

When we walked into Bec’s house, everyone did as they were supposed to, and hollered SURPRISE! In fact, there were a couple of horns blowing before we even knocked. I’m pretty sure it was 2-year-old Kelsie. It took Bill a bit to figure out that it was a party for him, but it helped when 3-year-old Lilly came over and handed him his birthday necklace. She was assigned the task because no one else could have talked him into wearing a necklace!…..

He didn’t have a heart attack from shock, the food was delicious, and the birthday cake was yummy…..

Perhaps best of all, it was another excuse to gather as a family that included most of Mom and Dad’s great grands. Carter was at a soccer tournament and Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole were at home in Denver…..

Too bad, because the boys could have used some help in numbers.

Happy birthday Bill, but this is the last time until October 19, 2018.

Saturday Smile: Who Dat?

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Once a year, my grandchildren, along with most kids in America, dress up so that they are scarcely recognizable. Halloween provides the opportunity not just to get a LOT of candy, but also to become someone — or something — else for a night.

Our Vermont family looks very scary, especially Joseph and Micah…..

This year the McLains were accompanied by their Aunt Julie (a banana) and their Aunt Emma and Uncle Allen (scary somethings-or-other). Dagny was the gorilla and Magnolia was a CSU cheerleader. As for the fox, well, that’s Alastair, and I have no idea how he sees out of that mask…..

Mylee is Pikachu, Cole is a doctor, and Kaiya is a mash-up of a mermaid, a unicorn, and a fairy…..

Lots of fun for everybody.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Since We Fell

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Author Dennis Lehane is a good story teller, particularly when it comes to character development. A number of his books have been made into movies – Shutter Island and Mystic River, both dark and interesting films. Since We Fell will likely be no exception. It seems to have been written to be made into a movie.

Like many of Lehane’s central characters, Since We Fell’s protagonist Rachel Childs stayed with me long after I finished the book. She wasn’t exactly likeable, but she felt real to me and though I couldn’t quite relate to the dark side of her personality, the fact that she was multifaceted instead of one-dimensional was a plus.

Childs’ never knew her father, and her mother wouldn’t tell her who it was. Her mother had long ago written a book about parenting that apparently earned her enough money to live on the rest of her life. And yet, she was probably one of the worst parents I’ve ever come across in a novel. She was selfish and manipulative and gave Rachel an entirely unstable childhood.

The book is written almost like two separate novels. Rachel (who is a television journalist) spends the first half of the book trying to find her father. She is determined to find the man who her mother refuses to identify despite Rachel’s never-ending pleas.

Rachel teeters on the edge of unstability, and after visiting Haiti in her role as a journalist, and witnessing poverty and violence like she’s never seen, she has an on-air breakdown, is subsequently fired, and spends the next few years not leaving her home. Her husband, himself a self-serving TV journalist, divorces her.

She eventually reconnects with a man who has made brief appearances throughout the book, and responds to his kindness. They marry.

Then the book gets complicated and Part 2 begins. I know. I know. Part 1 seems complicated enough!

I won’t go into a lot of detail about the second part of the book, but it becomes a thriller that deals with trust and greed and who one can love. Part 2 finally clarifies why the first line of the book is “On a Tuesday in May, in her thirty-fifth year, Rachel shot her husband dead.”

In looking at reviews, opinions range from I couldn’t put this book down to this convoluted story made for one of the worst books I’ve ever read. I fall somewhere in between, but lean to the can’t-put-the-book-down side.

It’s true that much of the story is convoluted and demands that the reader suspend reality, but I just kept coming back to the characters. They were just so danged interesting.

A review of this book is difficult to write without giving away the surprises, and the twists and turns are critical. So you’ll just have to read Since We Fell yourself and see what you think.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Creepy Crawly
Jonathan, the extremely nice pest exterminator, showed up around noon yesterday with a big smile on his face and a container full of whatever it takes to kill scorpions. He walked around spraying and dusting and doing whatever was necessary to get rid of any unwelcome creatures, following my scorpion sighting the other day. He warned me that the poison might bring out a few more scorpions because, well, they don’t like the stuff. But then it will kill all of their little friends. He assured me that because this past summer was quite humid (for Arizona standards), many people like us who had never seen a scorpion in their house had a few that showed their ugly selves. So I’m bracing for some more unwelcome visitors. Shake your shoes before you step into them and shake out your sheets before you get in bed, he told me. Consider it done.

Professional Bug Killer
Speaking of Jonathan, being me, I of course had to ask him personal questions that were none of my business. But I couldn’t imagine a 10-year-old boy saying, “When I grow up, I want to be a pest exterminator so that I can constantly be looking at rats, scorpions, cockroaches, termites, and black widow spiders.” So I asked him just how he got where he was professionally. To my relief, he didn’t grow up wanting to be an exterminator. He grew up wanting to be a professional athlete, just like every other little boy. He was an athlete in college (I didn’t ask what sport, but if I were a betting woman, I would say basketball given the fact that he was about 7 feet tall). But when he got out of college, he floundered around for a job. As he put it, “I didn’t exactly concentrate on studying a lot in college.” He had a desk job for a bit, but wanted something that allowed him to meet people and be outdoors. There’s a job for everyone, I guess.

House of Cards
One of the latest sexual harassment charges in Hollywood is against Kevin Spacey, an actor I have always disliked. Now I am reading that Netflix is putting House of Cards on hold until they can get things figured out. While I’m sorry for the man whom Spacey allegedly fondled, I am somewhat relieved that House of Cards is going away, at least for a while. Why? Because just about everyone I know has told me I simply MUST watch that program because of my former life in politics, and I frankly have never really been interested, because see above: Spacey gives me the creeps. Now perhaps everyone will stop coaxing me to watch that program.

Batter Up
While the World Series was being played in Los Angeles, a world series of sorts was being played right here in Mesa, AZ. Jen’s grandson Austin, along with his teammates, were in game two of a championship series. They won Monday night and played game two last night. We went to the game long enough to watch Austin up at bat twice, scoring once. We also saw him make a nice play to first, getting a kid out. And then we went home. I always miss my grands when we’re here, so it’s nice to have some stand-ins. Trooper that he is, Austin played with a sore throat and a fever. Poor Bud. But the good news is that his team had a come-from-behind victory!

Ciao.

 

Frights

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Everywhere I went yesterday, I came face-to-face with people dressed like witches or faces made up like clowns or clerks and food servers who looked like zombies. Everyone was having so much fun. And good for them, because I’m all for people having fun, even if it’s doing something I have had absolutely no desire to do for 50 years. And even back when I was a child, the only thing good about Halloween was the candy. The costumes were scratchy and it almost always snowed.

I promise I’m not grouchy about Halloween. Pumpkin spice pizza, yes; Halloween, no. I love when I answer my doorbell Halloween night and see a sweet little girl dressed like Elsa or a shy little boy dressed like a football player. I’m happy to give them my snickers bars because otherwise I will eat them myself.

I went to the grocery store yesterday, and most of the store workers were dressed up some way or the other. One man giving out free samples was dressed like bacon. I saw a few clowns, and a fair number of people who didn’t appear to be anything in particular besides painted in bright colors. But the cashier I happened to choose either doesn’t like Halloween or was dressed as Oscar the Grouch. Because she had a scowl on her face and was defiantly wearing her Frye’s shirt and a pair of khakis.

I don’t dress up for Halloween, she told me as I walked up to her stand, despite the fact that I didn’t ask. I haven’t dressed up since I was a kid, and I have no intention of doing it today, she added. I will turn off my lights tonight and won’t answer the doorbell.

Alrighty then.  And a happy Halloween to you. You’d better hope the naysayers are right and there really is no such thing as ghosts.

As for me, my costume was that of a skittish desert dweller. Because after seven years of bragging that we have never had a scorpion in our house, I’ll be darned if one didn’t skitter across the kitchen floor yesterday morning as I was making coffee.

Anyone who knows me will know I am lying if I say I was calm as a still lake and cool as a cucumber. Because what I did instead of calmly stepping on the little rascal was yell at the top of my lungs, “Bill, come quick and bring a shoe. There’s a scorpion in here.”  It was 5:30 a.m.

I don’t care if it’s one of God’s creatures. I wanted it dead. Bill came out bleary-eyed (and barefoot, I might add), asking me what was the matter. I calmly (right!) explained that there was a scorpion that was now hiding underneath the little corner cabinet in our kitchen. Bless Bill’s heart, because within seconds, the critter was flattened. And I was on the phone with a real estate agent. Just kidding. But when the clock struck 8, I really was on the phone with a pest control service and Jonathan-the-Scorpion-Killer will come out later this afternoon to assess the situation. And kill all the little bastards.

At the end of the day, I must remind myself that our house is in the desert and they were here first. It doesn’t help a lot.

But back to Halloween, a much nicer subject even if I don’t dress up in a costume. Around mid-day, Maggie and Lilly stopped by to welcome us to the desert. Lilly, while not yet in her actual costume, was definitely decked out in Halloween attire, and it made me smile…..

And I talked to some of the grandkids last night, and got photos from some of the others. They all appeared to have had a great time dressing up in costumes ranging from a gorilla to a fairy/unicorn/mermaid (all in one). I will post photos later this week. Oh, and I’m not telling the truth when I say I didn’t have a costume. I did….

Pinky Pie. Who knew?

We had a grand total of one trick-or-treater somewhere in the neighborhood of 7:30.

More candy for us.

It’s Always Something

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For the past few weeks, we have been getting stern emails from our home owners’ association in AZ. Your yard looks like crap, they said (in so many words). We have standards, they reminded us. Next thing you know, you’re going to park a rusty ’74 Ford Pinto in your front yard and set a ratty couch on your porch, they opined.

Well, perhaps the emails weren’t that stern, but when we pulled up to our driveway, our yard looked sad enough to make Bill swallow hard and say yoiks. Just as I suspected, Bill carried in our suitcases and other stuff and within 15 minutes, he was at work in the yard…..

My brother keeps track of our house during our absence. He stops by every couple of weeks, flushes the toilets, checks for running water and signs of pests, gets our mail, and removes the impassioned pleas for us to become Jehovah’s Witnesses from our door. But even with his much-appreciated help, whichever one of us is the first to open up the house after the long, hot summer closes our eyes and holds our breath as we unlock the door and step in.

This year, sometime in late June, I got a phone call from our AZ neighbor, a very sweet elderly woman named Patsy. Since Patsy and I are friendly but not BFFs, seeing her name come up on my caller ID made me swallow hard and go yoiks. And for good reason, as it turned out. Our drip system was spewing water like Old Faithful. Jen’s son-in-law Mark was good enough to fix that for us that time. Still, Arizona summers are long and hot, making problems inevitable. Hence, the front yard that looked like a post apocalyptic nightmare.

The inside of the house usually fares a bit better, and this year was no exception. We had, of course, the normal smells that come from stale air mixed with sewer gas. But we were scorpion free, and unlike a couple of years ago, there was no signs of termites. Unfortunately, there was also no signs of a working modem. We turn off our wifi in the summer and turn it back on when we return in the fall. Since we are as reliant on technology as the next guy, a trip to Best Buy to replace the dead modem was necessary.

Luckily, that also created the opportunity to eat an early dinner at Fuddruckers. After two days on the road dining primarily on Red Vines and Slim Jims, even restaurant food seemed like a home cooked meal.

By the time we settled in to watch the football game, we had working wifi, our suitcases were unpacked, and we were ready to tackle the rest of the chores.

Today, we will get settled in for our two-week stay. I will make a trip to the grocery store so that we have something other than beer in our fridge and Oreos in our pantry. I will even get a bag of candy in case the neighborhood kids decide to drop by, thinking our house is haunted from the looks of the front yard.

Saturday Smile: Fish Stories

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While their mom and dad are out of town, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith are having themselves some kind of fun. Their Aunt Julie (Jll’s sister), being the brave woman that she is, took the four of them to a dude ranch to learn the way of the cowboy (and cowgirl)……

The three days will involve horseback riding, campfires, and, well, I guess fishing. Judging from these photos that she posted on Facebook…..

Addie, Dagny, and Magnolia all caught at least one fish or more. Quite frankly, Addie’s looks like a dolphin.

Lots of adventures, and they made me smile.

Have a great weekend.