Author Archives: kzmclain

A Face for Radio

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As you read this blog post, you will find that its content has very little to do with its title. But I’ve always thought that phrase was a funny description of someone who has a very good speaking voice but is maybe not willing to wear cocktail dresses to report the news.

We were very short-handed at church Sunday. Bill and I went to 9 o’clock Mass, and there was one priest, one altar server, no deacons, one lector, a cantor, an organist and truly just a handful of people in the congregation. It is my sincere hope that there was slim attendance because of Labor Day weekend, and not because even more people aren’t going to church. It’s already bad enough without more people abandoning ship.

Anyway, our lector was a man who frequently does the readings at this Mass, and I’m always very happy when he is the lector. He has what is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful speaking voices I’ve ever heard. He speaks loudly, but not obnoxiously. He speaks slowly and e-nun-ci-ates every single syllable of every single word, making him easy to understand. He reads as though he is speaking the Word of God, which of course he is. He puts feeling into his readings.

He also always – ALWAYS – wears a coat and tie, with a handkerchief in his pocket, making him look quite dapper. I like that because almost no one dresses up for church any more. I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, clearly if you are visiting Jesus in his own house, it would seem as though you should wear your very best. Having said that, I’m in favor of doing anything to make attendance more plentiful – including not worrying about how people are dressed. Because, see above. Low attendance.

So there you have it: the connection to the title. The man sounds as though he worked in radio broadcasting when he was younger. His face, by the way, is perfectly handsome, so the bottom line is no real connection to the title.

But when he stepped to the microphone, here’s the first Words of God that he spoke:

You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped; you were too strong for me, and you triumphed.

Wow. His words echoed through the church. Strong words from the Prophet Jeremiah. I sat up a bit straighter, not just from the power of the words, but from the power of our reader’s voice. He went on….

All the day I am an object of laughter; everyone mocks me. Whenever I speak, I must cry out, violence and outrage is my message; the word of the Lord has brought me derision and reproach all the day.

I say to myself, I will not mention him, I will speak in his name no more. But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it.

Say, I thought to myself, I’m pretty sure that’s what I do all the time. I’m pretty sure I don’t speak out about what I full-well know is right and what’s wrong, on what is God’s will and on what I know we do that makes God sad. And why not? Because it might make me an object of laughter.

Jesus told his disciples (and us): Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.

What Jesus DIDN’T say was whoever wishes to come after me must take us his cross but only if it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

Happy Labor Day

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All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence. – Martin Luther King, Jr.

24

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Bill, as you know, is a NASCAR fan, and for many years he was a Jeff Gordon fan. Gordon drove the No. 24 car. A few years ago, when Bill and I went to the NASCAR race in Phoenix, at my urging, he broke down and bought himself a 24 baseball cap at NASCAR race prices, and has worn it proudly to every race since.

In 2015, Gordon announced his retirement, and the 24 car was turned over to a young guy named Chase Elliott. After giving it much thought, Bill decided he would continue to support 24 and has cheered Elliott on for a couple of seasons.

Yesterday morning as Bill was reading his news, he announced to me that Chase Elliott has been assigned a new car — No. 9. Apparently Elliott’s father — also a racer — had driven No. 9, and in honor of his father, Chase asked for that number. Bill added that the 24 car was going to be driven by some young driver.

“So,” I asked Bill, “to whom are you going to be loyal — Chase Elliott or No. 24?”

Bill was quiet for a second or so, and then said, “Well, I don’t want to buy another hat.”

So I guess Bill will continue to support 24, no matter what kind of racer he is. The alternative would be to spend big bucks on another hat.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Snow Flower and the Secret Fan

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I’ll be perfectly honest. I mostly avoid reading books by Chinese authors if the stories are about life in China. I’m not anti-China; I just feel like the stories always move so slowly. So I wouldn’t have picked up Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, by Lisa See, had it not been recommended by someone whose reading opinions I trust.

Though it wasn’t particularly a page-turner, I enjoyed the book and learned an incredible amount – much of it quite disturbing – about life in 19th and 20th Century China. Particularly life for women.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan takes place in a small village in 19th Century China, and tells the story of two friends – Lily and Snow Flower – and their incredibly difficult lives. They are more than just friends. They are laotong – or “old sames,” committed to each other for their entire lives.

The story is told from the perspective of Lily, now in her 80s. She tells not only the story of their friendship, but the story of the amazingly difficult lives led by the women in China during this time.  Girls were literally distained by their parents from birth on. The birth of a girl baby was a grave disappointment to both the mother and the father. The only purpose girls had was to work and take care of the family. Once a girl married, they moved to their husband’s house and took care of his family.

The most interesting – if disturbing – part of the book were the graphic details about foot binding, and the part it played in girls’ lives. It resulted in me looking into the practice in great detail with shear horror. Imagine having your foot broken over and over again, until it is a perfect four inches long. The women literally couldn’t walk.

But the story about the secret language and the writings that only women could understand were beautiful and quite interesting.

The writing is lovely, and it you don’t mind a rather slow read, this novel might be just for you.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Pregnant
No, I don’t want to scare you. I’m not pregnant, nor are any of my grandkids. It’s my burrito that’s pregnant. Even before Bec arrived in Colorado, she warned me, “I’m in the mood for Mexican food. Be prepared.” I have mentioned before that the Mexican food in AZ is a lot different from the Mexican food in Colorado and New Mexico. The difference is most notable in the green chile. In AZ, burritos might be filled with a version of green chile whereas in Colorado, burritos will be smothered in green chile. Anyway, there is a Mexican restaurant to which I have taken Bec before called El Senor Sol. I can’t say that it’s significantly better or worse than other Mexican restaurants. What I can tell you, however, is that they have something on their menu called a Pregnant Burrito. That, my friends, is a bean burrito with either a chile relleno or a cheese enchilada stuffed inside. The first time that we ordered this particular item, Bec’s and my expectations were unclear. We each expected the relleno or the enchilada to be on the side. So when the server set down a plate containing a single burrito, we both looked confused. “Excuse me,” I said politely. “Where is my enchilada?” The server gave me one of those looks, and said, “It’s inside the burrito, you nimwit.” Well, she didn’t actually call me a nimwit, but I know she thought I was exactly that. “Oooooh,” I said. “That’s why it’s called a pregnant burrito. I’m certain she rolled her eyes. At any rate, they are delicious, and now we have the whole pregnant thing NAILED…..

Trash Barrel
Bec and I were in our family room the other day watching Gone With the Wind (Oh, Ashley, Ashley…) when I heard Bill holler at me. Kris, come here for a second. Putting the movie on hold (just as Scarlett was pulling down the front of her dress so as to show her decolletage, making Mammie’s head explode), I went to see what Bill wanted. He had pried the bottom two steps off in preparation to replace them with the red oak he is installing all over the house. It seems that way back when our house was built in 1972, the construction workers didn’t see the need to use a trash can to get rid of their lunch remains…..

Yes, my friends. For all of these years, this trash has lived inside our stairway, unbeknownst to us.

Construction Continues
Bill is making real progress in our home improvement project. I promise you, I can even barely keep a straight face when I call it our home improvement project. I vowed I wasn’t going to show any pictures until it’s done, but this contrast is amazing. From this…..

To this…..

Isn’t it so pretty? And that’s without the stain on the wood. He still has a bit of work yet to do on the spindles, but I love it so much.

Let’s All Go to the Movies
I managed to get Bill to take a day off of construction. He worked in his office for a bit, went out to lunch with a friend, and then we went out for dinner and a movie. A very good movie, as it turns out, called Logan Lucky. I would likely never even have heard of this movie if Court and Alyx hadn’t seen it on Monday and told me about it. Court said it was a hillbilly Oceans Eleven, and indeed it was. Very clever plot. Very Coen-Brothers-like, though it wasn’t the Coen Brothers. Lots of fun.

Ciao!

Jump Serve

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The other day, my phone rang, indicating a call from our eldest granddaughter, Addie. Addie frequently texts me, but rarely calls. I of course immediately went to my “who died now” place, and answered the phone.

Nana, I left my gym bag at school after volleyball practice, she told me. Can you give me a ride back to school to pick it up? Mom had to go somewhere and can’t take me.

Thankfully, her school is a mere 10 minute drive from our house, so I told her I would be happy to give her a ride. We arrived only to find the doors locked up tight and so she was unable to get her bag.

As we drove home, she was uncharacteristically quiet and distracted. I asked her if she had much homework. She sighed and told me she was going to go home and grab some dinner and then spend the rest of the night doing homework. I asked about her classes this year, and she gave me a rundown that sounded much like the way I imagine the president of the United States spends his day. Only without Secret Service and Air Force One.

Don’t get me wrong; she wasn’t complaining a bit. I think that it’s just taking her a bit of time to get used to the pace of high school. No surprise there. It seemed like every class she told me about had the word honors in it.

So it was fun yesterday afternoon to watch her play volleyball for the Thomas Jefferson High School Spartans freshman volleyball team. Why? Because it looked like she was just having herself some fun. She had her own little cheering section – her mother Jll, her father Dave, her Aunt Julie, my sister Bec and me. Together, we could yell Go Addie! quite loudly. I’m sure she was thrilled to have us waving to her from the stands.

I used to change her diapers! I yelled. No, I didn’t really. Give me a bit of credit.

I don’t know a lot about volleyball, but I suspect I will learn quickly. But I do know about high school athletics, because I grew up in Nebraska where high school sports are king. Especially football. But, the last time I had been to our neighborhood Target, I noticed they had clothing for our favorite sports teams – the Denver Broncos, the CU Buffaloes, the CSU Rams, and – what?????? – the Thomas Jefferson Spartans. I kid you not. Thank you Target.

So about an hour before the game, I headed over to Target and got myself a Spartans shirt……

I believe I was the only one who knew about Target’s support of their local high school, because except for the volleyball team, I was the only one wearing TJ attire. And proud of it, I might add. Brown and yellow, fight fight.

By the way, I almost didn’t go to the game. It was tempting to think about sitting outside in the afternoon drinking gin and tonics. But, I kept looking over at Bec (who I believe hasn’t missed a single one of her two grandkids’ sporting events), and decided I wanted to go see my girl play volleyball. Not that Bec would judge….

This was only the second game of the season. Not only did Addie have an exceptionally good game, but the home team was victorious. What more could I ask?

Go Spartans. Go grandkids.

Second Rounds

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While my mother’s death wasn’t sudden – in fact, she outlived the odds by several years – it still was a blow to her family when she died. Not surprisingly, my dad was particularly affected. Not only had they been happily married for over 40 years, but he had patiently cared for her during her illness – schlepping her to doctor appointments, staying with her during hospital visits, providing moral support and care and love and laughter.

So it wasn’t unexpected that he was pretty lost following her passing. His kids tried to help him move on. Jen in particular (because she lived in the same town) made sure he was taking care of himself. But as the months and then a year or two went by, he still seemed lost.

And then he met Shirley.

I wish I could tell you that I was a complete grown-up and accepted this new relationship with joy and support. Nope. I was a big fat baby. My siblings would probably say they were no better, but I assure you they were. I was the worst. Shame on me.

Despite all this, Dad and Shirley married. And remained married until my dad’s death in 2010. They had a happy marriage. After some time, both his family and her family came to grips with the fact that their mommy and daddy were living their lives in a way that made them happy. Dang. I hate when people act like grown-ups. The two of them did fun things – took driving trips, went to shows in Branson, MO, took in frequent movies, dined out, picnicked, made many trips to Estes Park, entertained all of their kids.

And when he, too, became ill, Shirley cared for him graciously until he died, something for which all of Dad’s children are — and always will be — grateful.

So the end of our story is a happy one. Because we all love Shirley, and she loves us back.

I am writing about Shirley because Bec and I spent a good portion of yesterday with her. She made us breakfast in her lovely little apartment in Loveland, an apartment which is cheerfully decorated with photos of her kids and grandkids and her great-grandkids. We reminisced, caught up with each other, looked at Bec’s China pictures, and ate and drank coffee. Two or three times, someone would walk into her apartment through the open door that leads to her patio telling her, Shirley, I have been trying to call you, but your telephone won’t ring. These interruptions lead me to two conclusions: 1. Her phone service must not have been working; and 2. She is clearly the most popular person at Mirasol Senior Living! Miss Congeniality, no doubt.

As we drove home, Bec and I talked about how though sometimes we don’t realize it, God really does put the people you need into your life if you just open your eyes to it…..

By the way, I had to take this picture for Dad’s grandkids’ pleasure. Shirley has kept their Poppo’s license plate…..

 

Full Plates

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The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook. – Julia Child

At the end of the day, there are probably few things more pleasurable than feeling the crunch of the herbs on the outside of a prime rib cooked medium rare or the taste and feel of an ice-cold oyster dipped in spicy cocktail sauce and doused with a squirt of lemon sliding down your throat. And yesterday, I experienced both sensations. And much more.

For more years than I remember, some iteration of folks – but always including Bill, Jen, her son BJ, and I — have visited the Greenbriar Inn just a few miles north of Boulder, Colorado, on Mother’s Day for brunch. Because it’s Mother’s Day, we knock elbows with many, many other folks treating their mothers to the Greenbriar’s amazing brunch.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. At least one year Bill and I were unable to make it because of one of Colorado’s infamous early-May snowstorms. That year, diehards Jen and BJ sat at their little table for two eating their mussels and eggs benedict and shrimp. A little snow wasn’t going to stop them from their appointed round of Mother’s Day brunch. They are gamers.

But this year, we simply couldn’t make the Mother’s Day brunch happen. There were many reasons, not the least of which was Bill and I arrived back to Denver from AZ a couple of weeks later than normal because we stayed to watch our niece graduate from ASU. And this year even Jen and BJ couldn’t get things to fall into place. With much chagrin, we decided we had to bag our annual Mother’s Day pig-out, er, brunch at the Greenbriar.

And then a few weeks ago, Jen (remember, she’s a gamer?) called with great excitement. The Greenbriar doesn’t just offer brunch on Mother’s Day. Why don’t we go out to brunch when Bec is visiting Colorado? She’s never been, and I think we are all available.

Voila! And so we did just that. Yesterday we enjoyed Sunday brunch at the Greenbriar Inn, and it was better than ever, largely because Bec was with us. It helped that, not being Mother’s Day, there were fewer patrons to fight over the oysters and mussels.

There is something so elegant about a brunch. It simply feels different than an all-you-can-eat buffet, even though for all intents and purposes, it is all you can eat. The offerings are fewer and more special. The atmosphere – at least at the Greenbriar – is elegant yet comfortable. And they promptly remove your plates each time you head up to the various food stations, thereby creating the illusion that all you are eating are those three shrimp and the tiny slice of bleu cheese on your plate. There’s no way to prove that’s actually your third helping of shrimp. And then, of course, there’s the champagne.

When we first sat down, BJ noted that he intended to be quite strategic about his approach. I’ve given this some thought, he said with a twinkle in his eye. My goal is 36 trips this year.

We all nodded thoughtfully. Well, we all told him, then you’d better have champagne instead of Bloody Marys because they will fill you up too quickly. He didn’t quite make it to 35, but he did darn well. As did we all.

So well, in fact, that at the end of the meal, when he saw that we had filled up a big plate of desserts instead of the little tiny plates they offered on the dessert table, our server nodded satisfactorily, and said, Nicely done, folks, nicely done. It made us recall one time when Court joined us for brunch and ate so many of the little crème brules that he was nearly sick; nevertheless, he grabbed another on his way out the door!

At the end of the meal, when we all were literally unable to eat another bite, our champagne glasses were messy with our fingerprints, and even the thought of one more oyster made us cringe, it occurred to us that we probably ate more at a single meal than some families eat in a week.

That notion makes me both proud and discomfited about being an American. But we sure had ourselves some fun. And God bless America……

Saturday Smile: School Smiles

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Somewhere in one of my many moves as a young mother, I lost a box. I don’t know what all was in that box, but one thing that I know WAS in that box was a photo album that included many pictures of my son Court as a small boy. And one of those photos was of his very first day of Kindergarten. While I can’t produce the photograph, I remember clearly that he wore navy blue shorts and a green short-sleeved collared sports shirt. He probably wore silly white socks with blue and red stripes, because that’s what I rolled in the boys’ socks department.

Because I can’t produce that photo, I doubly love the photos our children take of their children on the first day of school each year…..

L-R Dagny prepares for her first day in middle school, sixth grade; Alastair is entering seventh grade; Dagny is heading of to high school. I love Dagny and Alastair’s briefcases.

Maggie Faith entered fourth grade, and I promise Biscuit-the-Guinea-Pig did not go to school with her.

Kaiya is entering fourth grade.

Mylee will be a second-grader this year.

And Cole, oh Cole. He is entering preschool. God bless his teachers.

The Vermont grandkids don’t start school until after Labor Day. Good luck to all of the Denver grands.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Kiss Carlo

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Novels by author Adriana Trigiani are always eagerly anticipated by this reader. I’ve been reading this prolific novelist’s works since the very beginning, with her Big Stone Gap novels. I loved the four Big Stone Gap novels because they had two things going for them  — they took place in Appalachia and they are about an Italian family.

I’m not Italian, but I think I was in a previous life.

Having said all of the above, I have been very disappointed in her last few novels. The Valentine series wore thin, with The Supreme Macaroni Company falling flat on its face. I found All of the Stars in Heaven to have an interesting premise, but was somewhat disappointed at the writing.

Still, as soon as Kiss Carlo was released, I read the book. With great gladness, I liked everything about it. Everything perhaps, except for the title, which never quite made sense to me. Nevertheless, I loved this book.

The story takes place following World War II, when south Philadelphia – along with the rest of the United States – was booming. The men were back from fighting, the GI bill and VA loans were making education and home ownership possible. Nicky Castone is sharing in the glory.

Nicky was left an orphan by the death of his mother and father when he was just a young boy. He was taken in and lovingly cared for by his aunt and uncle, who own a thriving cab/telegraph company in south Philly. Nicky drives one of the cabs, but secretly dreams of being an actor. He volunteers his time as a reader at a dying Shakespearean theater nearby. The theater is run by the beautiful and spirited Calla Borelli.

Nicky soon finds that these dreams are important enough that he moves away from the nest to New York City to become and actor in the early days of television. Will Nicky find his dream? Will the dream change him?

The novel is an amusing romp, and despite the fact that there are a lot of quotes from Shakespeare and some of the story lines parallel Shakespeare’s plays, the book is just plain fun. (Not that Shakespeare isn’t, mind you!) The dialogue is quick and clever and reminded of me of being around Italians during our visit to Europe in 2008. The conversations strike me as realistic and honest.

I recommend the novel.

Here is a link to the book.