Author Archives: kzmclain

A Taste of France

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Bill and I had planned to go to Montreal last year when we visited our family in Vermont, but weren’t able to do so because we were inept in the whole renewing-our-passports thing and they didn’t arrive in time. This time we happily held them in our grimy little fists to hand to the border guards as we passed from Vermont into Canada.

The most notable thing was that you could immediately tell that you were in a different country. And I’m not just talking about being greeted by the border guards, who didn’t seem terribly concerned about us. The landscape changes almost immediately from the woods of Vermont to farmlands of Quebec. I seriously would have thought I was in Nebraska except for the fact that the architecture was also quite unique.

Juliette & ChocolatKnowing us as well as they do, the first thing that Heather and Lauren did was to take us to a chocolate shop, featuring all manner of things chocolate. Bill and Joseph thought they had died and gone to heaven for sure. In fact, they both ordered the same thing – a chocolate lava cake with a side of, yes, chocolate.

And the second thing they did was take us to an outdoor market, probably the most beautiful market I have ever seen, even in Europe. While there were shops featuring seafood and meat and patisseries and boulangeries, it was the vegetable market that amazed me the most…..

vegetable market montreal

micah joseph nana market (2)

This photo is notable in large part because it’s about the only one taken this trip of Micah in which he doesn’t have his tongue out or is making some sort of face. He’s 4, donchaknow.

Being me, one of the things I most wanted to do while visiting Montreal was to experience local food. Lauren, who grew up in Vermont and has spent a fair amount of time in Montreal, told me that there were a few food things for which Montreal was known – mussels, smoked meat sandwiches, and poutine. Poutine? I had never heard of it.

So on Friday night we went to a restaurant appropriately called Poutineville, featuring all sorts of options for poutine. Poutine is basically a dish consisting of French fries covered in cheese, some sort of meat, and some sort of gravy. I had the house specialty, which was French fries smothered in a red wine gravy, cheese curds, and braised beef…..

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We arose early the next morning and went to yet another market, where we quickly spotted a beautiful pastry shop. Lauren and I agreed to wait in line while the rest found a place to sit. The shop was extremely busy, and Lauren and I stood in line for probably 15 pastries montrealor 20 minutes before we realized we should have grabbed a number. Have you ever seen the movie Beetlejuice? You remember the scene where Beetlejuice grabs the number – something like 1,032,587 – and looks at the screen and sees they’re on number 6? We were Beetlejuice. Nevertheless, time passed quite quickly once we grabbed our number and in short order we all were eating croissants so fresh, warm and crumbly that it brought tears to my eyes. And, yes, also a second visit to the patisserie and another 20 minutes in line. I also bought some of the beautiful macarons for which the French are famous. They deserve their fame as they are light and delicious, as well as so very pretty…..

macaroon tree

Macarons

Our final Montreal food treat was a visit to a brasserie at which we got our mussels. Well, actually, Bill shockingly ordered a steak, but Heather and Lauren and I each ordered a different kind of mussel dish and shared. I’m not sure when I’ve ever tasted anything so very good. And also beautiful…..

Lauren Heather Kris mussels

Montreal musselsI will admit that perhaps the highlight of our brief trip to Montreal was what probably would rank among the top three tourist attractions – a city tour on an amphibian bus. Yes, my friends, we toured Montreal from the bus, which then drove into the St. Lawrence River from which we were awarded with another view of Montreal. Joseph, Micah, and Nana all had eyes the size of quarters as we drove into the water. It was a grand treat.

amphibian bus

And we had a wonderful visit of Montreal, without a doubt. I loved hearing the beautiful French language spoken by the people around me and experiencing the feeling of being in Paris, and yet, wasn’t. I am motivated to return, and to add Quebec City to my itinerary. In the meantime, I’ll get my fix by reading the Inspector Gamache books by Louise Penny.

Pill Canisters and Other Contraband

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imgresAfter spending a full week with our family in Vermont, Bill and I traveled with them to Montreal on Friday and flew back to Denver from there on Sunday. This pretty Canadian city is a short hour-and-a-half-or-so drive from Montpelier, and it feels like you are in a different country.

Oh, wait. You are in a different country. But it feels, well, really, really different. Like France, only with nice and friendly people who don’t get mad if you don’t speak French. It makes up for that whole mayonnaise-with-your-french-fries thingy.

Our trip home Sunday started as we flew on Air Canada from Montreal to Toronto. We

The offending pill canister.

The offending pill canister.

went through Customs in Toronto, where once again my pill canister caused a complete examination of my carry-on bag and considerable angst – by them, not me. This time I was prepared and things went a bit quicker. I saw her frantically rooting through my bag, and asked if she was by any chance looking for my silver pill canister. As an aside, I feel compelled to tell you I have carried this particular canister in my purse since Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2009, and it has never caused a bit of concern; never once has it raised any TSA or United States Custom agents’ eyebrows. I’m blaming Colin Kaepernick.

By the way, in Customs, the other thing that caused them concern was my bottle of Benefiber that was in my carry-on because it wouldn’t fit in the suitcase we checked. Lifting it high in the air, the agent hollered over to her co-worker who sat 20 feet away from her, “Don’t worry, it’s only fiber powder.” Thank you for sharing my constipation issues with my fellow travelers who were already concerned about the silver canister. Now they also had to worry about crankiness due to uncomfortable abdominal bloating.

Air Canada is nice, my friends. It’s true you still have to pay for an assigned seat if you aren’t interested in grabbing a vacant seat in the manner of a 5-year-old playing musical chairs. I pay for the seat because I always feel somewhat guilty when I shove aside the elderly Catholic nun to get an aisle seat. Her rosary beads slow her down. Aside from that, however, you get a full-sized tray, your seat reclines a full inch-and-a-half, you get a free pop (including the can – whoo hoo!), you have access to Wi-Fi on many planes, and there are television screens from which you can watch movies or television (well, except you have to pay them 3 Canadian dollars for the earphones that are specially designed and cannot be substituted with the earphones you are carrying with you on the plane). It doesn’t matter, because I mostly read anyway.

Which brings me to the other thing that happened to me on our trip back to Denver. As we made the approximately-one-hour-flight from Montreal to Toronto, I happily read my Kindle book from my trusty iPad. Upon landing, I placed it in my carry-on, and off we went in search of our connecting flight. As I mentioned above, this required going through Customs as we were flying from a foreign country. Aside from the pill canister/Benefiber issue, Customs went flawlessly, given the fact that we weren’t trying to bring home live animals or illegal drugs.

We had about an hour to kill, and I carried my bag with me as we found our gate, then plopped it down at my feet when we found a place to have lunch.

Oh, I have another digression here. At the Toronto airport – or at least in the post-Customs side of the Toronto airport – they don’t have very much regular seating at the gates. Instead, they have this very cool seating where you sit at a table with your own personal iPad. From that iPad station, you can catch up on the news, order your lunch, select an appropriate beverage, and charge up any of your own equipment. It was very cool except for the fact that a sandwich cost 20 Canadian dollars and the cheapest glass of wine was 17 Canadian dollars. Both which I purchased, of course. It was very high tech and Star Trekie, if quite expensive.

Anyway, we boarded our Air Canada plane in Toronto, and for some reason, it was a much smaller plane with no Wi-Fi. No problem, however, because see above. I read. Except after we were up in the air, I pulled out my iPad only to find that at some point in Toronto, the volume button had gotten smushed and was thoroughly jammed. My iPad would do absolutely nothing but show that little volume icon. Bill spent a good 30 minutes using his fingernails, a pen, and various other things to which we had access to try and unsmush it, but to no avail. It was nothing but a flat, useless, metal item taking up room in my bag.

I thought I had the answer because the Kindle software is also on my phone. Alas, I hadn’t downloaded the book I was reading, so though I could see the book, I wasn’t able to read it. And guess what? No Wi-Fi on this plane because of its small size. I’m blaming Colin Kaepernick.

So I sat for three hours as we made our way across the central US states to Denver. Time goes very slowly when you are staring at the flight map. Even I find it interesting that I was willing to pay 17 Canadian dollars for a glass of wine but wouldn’t fork over 3 Canadian dollars for headphones. Priorities, my friends. I’m not made of money.

The good news is that we made it home safe, and Bill – in true MacGyver-like fashion – has jerry-rigged my iPad to work, at least for a bit. Like its owner, it wouldn’t win any beauty contests.

Tomorrow I will tell you all about Montreal.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Friday Book Whimsy: Giddy Up, Eunice: Because Women Need Each Other

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searchAuthor Sophie Hudson is a popular blogger who has two previous books under her belt. A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet and Home is Where My People Are both consist of a series of humorous vignettes or essays, and I found them both highly enjoyable. Hudson is immensely funny.

Giddy Up, Eunice is also a series of essays, but less family stories and more sermons. And I absolutely don’t mean that in a negative way. Hudson, who has talked about her mother, her mother-in-law, and others who provided love and guidance in her life, focuses this time on the importance of relationships between people of all ages, and the role these have in shaping our lives, particularly our spiritual lives.

Hudson does this in a way that is unfailingly funny and inarguably southern. She uses some of the more well-known women in the bible to illustrate her points. What did Mary do when she found out she was going to give birth to the long-awaited savior? She immediately went to visit her much-older cousin Elizabeth, who had her own role to play in Jesus’ life. They provided support to one another.

Likewise, the story of Naomi and Ruth illustrates the importance of the love of family. Naomi and Ruth pretty much saved one another, much as the author says we can help save our friends and family if we pay attention to their needs.

Giddy Up, Eunice is an equally wonderful book to give a friend who is firm in her faith, or a woman who is struggling with her relationship with God. I can guarantee it will make you laugh out loud, and make you think about your relationships with others.

Here is link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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Maple
In Vermont, it’s all things maple, and for good reason. Maple trees abound in this beautiful state. Yesterday Bill and Joseph and I drove to a nearby sugar farm to buy – what else? – a genuine maple creemee. That makes two so far, and I’m not even particularly a maple fan. But maple creemees, well that’s a different thing altogether. Cold, creamy goodness with a subtle maple flavor. Yum.

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This sign that we saw at the local ice cream stand says it all….

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Chasing Merlin
Two days in a row now, Merlin-the-Dog has taken advantage of our lax door closing abilities to make a break for it through a door that wasn’t tightly latched. Bill and I have spent waaay too much time chasing our loved ones’ dog, unsuccessfully bribing him with dog treats, diving for him only to come up empty, begging him to consider that his running away would be considered a Nana fail. Both times we finally caught up with him only because he tired out and gave up. Does he look tired?……

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Bon Jour
When not eating maple creemees, I am walking over to the beautiful French bakery a block from the house. Each day they offer a variety of scrumptious treats, none of which involve maple. I’m pretty sure the quick walk doesn’t offset the calories ingested…..

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Working Man
As usual, Bill has been keeping himself busy with all sorts of projects around Heather and Lauren’s house. Merlin (of the Great Escape fame) recently chewed the arms of one of their antique chairs, leaving an unsightly mess. Bill bought the necessary tools to sand the arms smooth and stained them back to the original color. However, yesterday when we left for a bit, upon our return, Merlin had once again chewed the daylights out of the chair arms. When Heather learned of Merlin’s naughtiness, she once again dragged out his wire kennel and informed him that he had lost his freedom privileges.

Ciao.

Choo Choo

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The bottom line is that there is no easy, one step way to get to Montpelier, VT, the smallest state capital in these United States. Some variation of trains, planes, and automobiles is required. Over the years, we’ve tried several options. Once we flew into Boston, via Milwaukee, hopped on a three-hour bus ride that took us to Hanover, NH, where Heather picked us up and drove us the hour or so to her home. No bueno.

We once flew into Manchester, NH, via – of all places – Orlando, FL. That time we rented a car and drove an hour and a half or so to Montpelier. Yet another time we flew into Burlington, VT, where Heather and Lauren picked us up to take us home. That time was fun because we went to a busker festival and saw Bernie Sanders casually walking down the street with no one paying him a bit of attention.

So this time we did something a bit different. We flew to NYC via Chicago, and spent the night in the city that never sleeps. Our overnight allowed us the chance to rest a bit and dine at one of my favorite restaurants – Becco’s. The next morning we walked the block or so to Penn Station where we boarded the Amtrak Vermonter, a passenger train that originates in Washington, DC, and concludes in St. Albans,VT, just short of Canada, making about ten thousand stops along the way. One of the stops is Montpelier, where this was awaiting for us…..

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…and this……

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From the time we stepped on the train until we stepped off in the rain to the glad greetings of Heather, Joseph, and Micah, eight-and-a-half hours had passed. I will admit it. I had envisioned seeing Hercule Poirot at a white-cloth-covered table in the dining car, eating escargot and drinking champagne by candlelight and wearing black tie. What I saw instead was a microwave, plastic forks, and a crabby food server who took frequent cigarette breaks in what was optimistically called the Club Car. Hercule was no where to be seen.

Having said that, I found about seven hours of the trip to be quite pleasant. The train moved along at a perky pace, and the stops, while frequent, were short. I had thought I might sleep because I knew I wouldn’t feel compelled to stay awake to keep the vehicle safe in the way that I do when I fly. Instead, however, I found myself hypnotically enjoying the pretty scenery and the smooth movement of the train. I didn’t even open my book. I watched the countryside of New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont fly by.

I will, however, admit that by the last hour or so, I was ready to be done. It had started to rain, the train was going right through a wooded area, hereby preventing any sort of view beyond trees, trees, and more trees. I have nothing against trees; I just missed the expansive scenic views.

And I was hungry. I ate a soggy microwaved sandwich for lunch, but simply couldn’t do one for dinner. I texted our Montpelier folks and requested a pizza stop upon arrival. Having the McLain pizza-loving genes, they were more than happy to oblige. In fact, Joseph – a growing 7-year old – ate two big slices of pepperoni pizza despite having eaten a full dinner shortly before.

We have enjoyed our several days here so far. Micah has been in school, but we have spent much time with Joseph, and what a treat that has been.

Well, except for the near miss at breakfast yesterday morning that had trained staff running toward us ready to perform the Heimlich on Joseph. No worries. It was unnecessary. No harm; no foul.

As you can see (in the world’s worst selfie) shortly after the crisis was averted…..

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The City Doesn’t Sleep, But We Did

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I can say with the utmost redundancy that this is a true fact: I felt the energy of New York City the second I got off the plane. La Guardia was crowded, dirty, and noisy. If it was any other way, I would have thought I was in Portland, Oregon. We had fewer than 24 hours with places to go and people to see.

Because I was with Bill McLain and Bill McLain doesn’t do cabs, we took a shuttle from the airport to our hotel. But, as usual, it was the way to go. Not only was it considerably cheaper, thereby allowing us to spend more money on important things like food and adult beverages, it also allowed us the opportunity to see different parts of the city. In fact, our driver took a very convoluted route through neighborhoods (about a thousand miles an hour) and side streets to get into Manhattan in a heartbeat.

He stopped in front of our hotel, the Renaissance Midtown, a block from Penn Station and spitting distance from the Empire State Building. We checked in after some confusion because the hotel inexplicably reserved my room under my married name from my first husband, and I’m trying hard not to think about how that happened. (Perhaps he will pay the bill as well.) Our room was way cool. Way cooler than either of us for sure. The ceiling was concrete and the shower was transparent on both sides so that the shower taker had absolutely no privacy. And as our 7 year old grandson Joseph said when he heard that: Ewwwwww.

But none of that mattered because we had reservations that night at Becco Restaurant, one of the dining establishments owned by Lidia Bastianich. I knew. I SIMPLY KNEW. This was going to be the night that she was going to come out of the kitchen, our eyes would meet, and she would invite me back into the kitchen to ask me what her cioppino needed to improve the flavor.

Well, once again, it didn’t happen; nevertheless, Bill and I had a delicious meal. I had the nightly pasta special that this night included spinach ravioli, spaghetti with roasted veggies, and penne alla vodka with shrimp…..

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Bill had a perfectly cooked rib eye steak….

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We decided against dessert, electing instead to take a cab over to Eataly, Lidia’s splendid Italian market. And yes, I said we took a cab. Bill’s resistance was lowered in large part because of the bottle of wine we had enjoyed with dinner. Following the wine we had before dinner.

We did a bit of shopping at her market that was surprisingly busy for 10:30 at night. A glass of sambucca seemed fitting to close out our night….

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Though we only had one short night in the city that never sleeps, I think we made good use of it. And as we prepared for bed, Joseph will be glad to know that I indeed didn’t look. Then it was on to our next adventure as we made our way to Vermont.

Stick ‘Em Up

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imageBill and I were feeling pretty smug when we headed towards security at DIA on Saturday morning. We had spent a nice night at the fancy schmancy Westin Hotel at the airport because our plane left at 6 a.m. Even so, we got up before 4 to ensure we got through security in a timely manner.

But, you see, the reason we were feeling smug is because for reasons we still don’t understand,we were pre-approved by TSA. What did that mean in practical terms? We didn’t have to take off our shoes or belts, and our electronic devices could remain snuggly in our carry on luggage. Should be a breeze, no?

No. Oh, Bill got through in record time, but I was apparently giving off DANGER DANGER DANGER vibes.

First, I was “randomly” selected to go through the fancy x-ray machine instead of the simple machine that Bill walked through with no problem. You know, the machine where they see me in my entirety as I helplessly hold my hands above my head. Randomly selected. I should have headed right out to purchase a lottery ticket.

Except I couldn’t because they carried away my black and white chevron striped bag after it had gone through x-ray with terribly concerned looks on their faces. Like perhaps they had come face to face with a terrorist. Wearing flip flops and a cross necklace.

As Bill patiently waited (he had passed security), they began rooting wildly through my bag.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “We’re looking for the CO2 cartridge you have in your bag,” he said angrily.

CO2 cartridge? I don’t even know what that means. Oh, I know what CO2 is, and I know what a cartridge is, but I also know I don’t have one in my bag.

“Well,” I said patiently. “What would be something normal that isn’t a CO2 cartridge but looks like one?”

And I swear to you that he said, “There isn’t anything else it could be. You have a CO2 cartridge in here.”

By this time, Bill has joined me, and I asked him what for what reason anyone would have a CO2 cartridge. “If you had a pistol,” Bill replied, looking at me warily. Which I didn’t.

In the meantime, Mr. TSA was still desperately searching every nook and cranny of my bag, going through every pocket and getting more frustrated by the minute. Terrorist suspects bring out the worse in TSA agents, and for good reason.

Finally he said, “Well, I’m going to put this through the x-ray again and find out where that cartridge is.

Okey dokey. Because by this time we were approaching boarding time.

He came back in a few minutes and said, rather sheepishly, “Do you have something in here that is a cylinder and has a key attached?”

Yep. Which I would have told him if he had answered my question about what else could resemble a CO2 cartridge.

The little carrying case attached to my key in which I carry Bill’s extra pills.

And so I was let go without having to spend time in a holding cell and the crisis was averted.

Here’s the thing. I respect TSA and would prefer they err on the side of caution. But so much time could have been saved if he would just have considered that what he saw could be something else other than a CO2 cartridge. I mean, seriously. An old lady in flip flops.

Saturday Smile: Butter Up

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As they wrap up their summer, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Magnolia are in Iowa, along with their family, visiting their Grandma Lynne’s old stomping grounds. One of their activities was attending the Iowa State Fair.

These city slicker kids got to experience rural America, including watching a calf be born. But the highlight was that Alastair was able to enter the Iowa State Fair Butter Carving Contest.

AND TOOK FIRST PLACE WITH HIS BUTTER CAR!

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So if he doesn’t grow up to be a Shakespeare scholar or a famous architect, he can be a food sculptor. Butter today, ice tomorrow.

But don’t forget that it all started with butter, as all things should.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Haunting of Hill House

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searchWhen I was a little girl, my mother would occasionally let me stay up on Saturday night and watch the weekly scary movie. One such Saturday, I saw the movie The House on Haunted Hill for the first time. Seriously, can anyone be scarier than Vincent Price? Wua hahahaha.

I have watched this movie a couple of times as an adult, and while the special effects are considerably less than special in comparison to movies made now, it is just a scary movie.

Because I liked The House on Haunted Hill, when the book The Haunting of Hill House came to my attention (Amazon? Goodreads? Pinterest?), I looked into it. While the story is not exactly the same, the movie clearly took its lead from Shirley Jackson’s creepy story.

Dr. Montague studies the phenomenon of ghosts. As part of his studies, he brings together a group of three – his assistant Theodora; Luke, who will eventually inherit the house; and Eleanor, who has had experiences with ghosts in the past. His idea is to bring the ghosts out into the open so that he can study them.

The book is creepy, there is no question about it. Written in 1959, it reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s famous Psycho, considered by many to be one of the scariest movies of all time. There is no blood and gore, no one gets slashed, there are not even any actual appearances by ghosts. There are only noises in the old mansion, and cold spots and drafts that indicate the ghosts’ presence. More than just a ghost story, this is the story of a vulnerable woman going mad.

Despite the lack of blood and gore, the book KEPT ME AWAKE AT NIGHT, ladies and gentlemen. It was creepy beyond belief.

I LOVED it.

The book was actually made into a movie, though not The House on Haunted Hill. Two movies, in fact. The original was released in 1963 and starred Julie Christie as Eleanor. It is apparently much better than the movie re-released in 1999.

Having read the book, I think I will pass on the movie, thank you very much. I can only lose so much sleep.

Here is link to the book.

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