Author Archives: kzmclain

Wedded Bliss

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I put everything on my Google calendar. I have to, because if it’s not on my calendar, I forget. It’s as simple as that. Quite often I forget even if it’s on my calendar because I forget to look at my calendar. Sigh.

But the good news is that my Google calendar has the ability to give me reminders. And a week ago yesterday, I got a reminder from Google that in exactly one week, it would be Bill’s and my wedding anniversary. The sad news is that if I hadn’t gotten the reminder from Google it is quite possible – highly likely, even – that neither Bill nor I would have even remembered our anniversary yesterday. Most days I can’t tell you what the date is anyway. That makes it official that Google knows more about my life than do I.

It’s actually taken significantly longer to forget my anniversary than it did for my first marriage. In that case, the very day of our SECOND anniversary, I suddenly realized that it was, in fact, our anniversary. That should have been a clue right then and there and I should have saved time and filed divorce papers. Our SECOND anniversary.

Despite the fact that we have now been married 24 years, I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was scared and excited and happy and discombobulated, all at once. I knew I was marrying the right man this time. My family was all in town for the ceremony, all of them having some sort of role in the wedding. I was having the wedding of my dreams, even though it was a small affair.

By 10 o’clock, my sisters, my step-daughter, my nieces, and I had already had our nails done and our hair styled in ways that were wholly unfamiliar to us. So much hairspray that we needed to remind ourselves to stay away from potential sparking situations.

Somewhere around 11:30, my son Court, then nearly 12 years old, came into our kitchen and said, “Mom, what’s for lunch?”

Gulp. I had forgotten about lunch, and so we quickly ordered pizza. Such is the wedding day of someone getting married for the second time. I probably had pizza stains in the corner of my lips as I walked down the aisle.

My wedding had a Victorian theme. For the past 24 years, I have been apologizing to my sisters, my step-daughter, and my nieces for the dresses I chose for them. They were pink. Pink like Pepto Bismol is pink. Not only would they never wear the dresses again, they had to clench their teeth when they wore them the one-and-only time….

billkriswedding

I didn’t have a professional photographer, and a friend took rather informal shots of my wedding. As you can see, my step-daughter and my two nieces are stuck in the back of the photo, barely seen behind the men. I don’t know why we thought this was a good idea, but at the end of the day, there is now no absolute proof that these three were wearing those Pepto Bismol dresses. Plausible deniability. It’s all good.

You can also see, if you look closely at the photo, that my niece Jessika (the little girl to the right), who recently graduated from college with a degree in environmental engineering, is carefully and thoughtfully shredding her little bouquet. My-friend-the-photographer was taking his sweet time trying to set up the shot, and I really thought my mother was going to kill him. “Take the damn picture, will you?” I heard her saying under her breath through clenched teeth. “Before there is nothing left of the bouquet.”

So now Bill and I have been married 24 years. He spent the day working on his car and painting. I spent the day getting my hair cut and watching Zootopia which I rented from Redbox. We had a wonderful dinner at McCormick and Schmick’s last night and were in bed at our regular hour.

Just wait until next year – our Silver Anniversary. That anniversary won’t require a nudge from Google. But after spending our 25th year of marriage cleaning and tossing out all of the things we have acquired in a quarter of a century, I hope to heck that no one thinks I need a silver vase.

Silence is Golden

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imagesMondays are often the day of the week that I expound to you about the wonderful words I heard yesterday in the Mass readings, and pretend that I have any right to try and explain them to you. I would love to do that today except I can’t because for the most part, I wasn’t listening.

Oh, I read along with the Old Testament reading from Zechariah, and nodded thoughtfully at St. Paul’s letter to the Galatians in which he told us all people who believe in Christ are the same, be they Jew or Gentile, male or female, man or woman, all of which was a great relief to me. I even took note of St. Luke’s Gospel in which Jesus asked his friends, who do they say I am, and then told them to keep their mouths shut when they said they think he is the chosen Christ, because no one would understand anyway.

But the reason I wasn’t listening was because somewhere around the time of the Gospel reading, I noticed that the three young teenaged boys who were the servers for the Mass all looked exactly alike. Brothers, little doubt, triplets, almost certainly. Triplet teenaged boys. Can you imagine?

And then, because I’m me, I began trying to figure out which of the people in the congregation were their parents. Father Larry is trying to save my soul by preaching a brilliant homily, and I’m secretly gooning around trying to figure out just who are the parents of these three remarkable young men.

Sometime towards the end of the Mass I said to myself, by Jove, I think I’ve got it! (I know I am watching too many PBS Masterpiece Mysteries when I start saying things like by Jove, even if it’s to myself.) It was the couple sitting next to me, who, by the way,had three children sitting with them. How did I come to that conclusion? First, parents of the children serving Mass always sit in the front of the church so that they can have a full view of their child/server. We were sitting in the second pew from the front. Second, the three children sitting between the man and woman looked exactly like the three boys on the altar except younger.

Eureka! I could be a great detective, like Sherlock Holmes or Inspector Gadget.

But of course I couldn’t be absolutely sure, and that made me concentrate on the Mass even less. Because I began thinking that I wanted to ask the woman who was sitting right beside me if she was the mother of the three boys and if they were, in fact, triplets. Questions all of which were none of my business. Which is exactly what I was fearful she would say to me.

I am the Queen of Striking Up Conversations With Total Strangers. And quite frankly, much of the time, it doesn’t go well. There is, of course, the time when we were on the cruise ship on the way to Europe and I said to the woman standing behind me in the buffet line, “Have you ever seen so much food in your life?” She answered, “I can’t see the food at all because I’m blind.” I’m not making this up.

And there was the time more recently when I was observing Kaiya and Mylee playing on the playground of McDonalds. I noticed that despite the fact that none of the kids had ever seen each other before, they were all playing together as if they were long-time friends. The grandfather – or at least who I assume was the grandfather – of one of the children was sitting next to me. I said to him in a friendly way, “Wouldn’t our life be better if our children ran the world?”

“Not hardly,” he answered back, quite grouchily, and resumed eating his Quarter Pounder with Cheese.

Alrighty then.

So despite the fact that I was absolutely DYING to ask the woman if she was the mother of the three boys, I had to remind myself of several things. First of all, I was only PRESUMING they were brothers, much less triplets; I had no verification of that fact. Second of all, since I had not been paying attention to the family next to me until I became so interested in learning these boys’ parentage, I had no proof that she was even with the man and the three children sitting next to her. I could just imagine me asking the question only to have her break into tears and say that she is unable to have children and it’s destroyed her life.

I refrained from asking the question, but haven’t been able to get the boys out of my mind.

By the way, in my defense, I did hear the part of the gospel in which Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” It made me wonder why we humans are always asking why bad things happen to good people. The answer is simple: we must take up the crosses we face every single day of our life. It’s what Jesus asks us to do.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Then She Opened Her Purse, Yada Yada Yada

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When you have small children, regular visits to urgent care are not unusual. Unexpected fevers, cuts needing stitches, bumps needing attention, whatnot.

At a recent urgent care visit with one of their kids, Court told us that while they were waiting to be seen, a woman rushed into the urgent care office and frantically informed the receptionist that she had just accidentally cut off her finger. She then proceeded to remove the finger FROM HER PURSE and hand it to the startled receptionist.

Now, Jen has long said that Court has always reminded her of Jerry Seinfeld. The straight man. The one who keeps everyone in line and everything in perspective. So as Court related the story to us, he deadpanned — in his best Seinfeld manner — “I don’t think I have ever seen a situation that called less for URGENT CARE and more for AN EMERGENCY ROOM.

Jerry and Elaine (left) Court and Kaiya (right)

Jerry and Elaine (left) Court and Kaiya (right)

I agree.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Along the Infinite Sea

Posted in Book Reviews, Whimsies by

imgresWhen last I saw Pepper Schuyler in Tiny Little Thing, she was pregnant with her boss’ child (modeled clearly after one of the Kennedys) and had found and completely rehabbed a vintage Mercedes Benz that she discovered hidden in her aunt’s barn. At the end of that book, Pepper had taken off in the car to places unknown.

Pepper Schuyler is the youngest of the three Schuyler sisters about whom author Beatriz Williams writes many of her books. I met Tiny and Pepper in Tiny Little Thing, and Vivian in The Secret Life of Violet Grant. The fictitious Schuyler family is old East Coast money which probably wasn’t earned legally and which provides for a grand way of life in the 1960s, when the stories are told.

Early in Along the Infinite Sea, Pepper sells her car for a whopping (especially in 1966 dollars) $300,000 to Annabelle Dummerich, a beautiful and glamourous newly-widowed 50-something woman who has a mysterious past. Annabelle takes pregnant Pepper under her wing and brings her home to her beautiful house by the ocean in Palm Beach.

From then on, the author uses her favorite style – back and forth in time and place – from Pepper’s story in 1966 East Coast United States to 1935 Europe – Germany and France – as the world begins to prepare for war and where Annabelle begins her mysterious journey.

Annabelle’s story involves a love affair with a German Jew who she later learns is a resistance fighter. She falls in love, and he with her, but she learns a secret about her lover which leads to her marrying Johann von Kleist, a Nazi officer. She is pregnant with her Jewish lover’s baby, and he knows this and agrees to raise the child as his own.

The story touches on the persecution of Jews, before and during WWII, the role women played in history, and the power that wealth can bring. Williams’ story-telling is amazing. Her back-and-forth writing style, often ending chapters at a critical moment, thereby preventing the reader from putting the book down.

Williams’ novels definitely have a romance element, but while plentiful, the romance doesn’t drive the plot. The story was realistic and compelling.

I believe we have run out of sisters, so I am eager to see how Williams’ tackles other subjects. Along the Infinite Sea  is a book that I can recommend with confidence.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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Walkin’ the Walk
Colorado is enjoying what I think is a beautiful late spring/early summer. The weather people are telling us that we are going to be climbing into the upper 90s in the next few days and into next week. But the mornings are simply beautiful. So rather than tackling the boring treadmill at the gym, Bill and I have been going for morning walks. Our goal is between two-and-a-half and three miles, and we have been largely successful. Yesterday morning, we headed south towards our neighborhood park and then up and around to Whole Foods so that I could buy a few things. Bill enjoys walking more if there is a purpose attached to the walk – something in addition to the obvious purpose of staying healthy. Our walk took us past the neighborhood pool and coming towards us on her bike was Addie. Since she couldn’t imagine that we WOULDN’T be coming to watch either her or her sisters swim, she informed us our timing was off. She was finished and Dagny wasn’t starting for an hour. When we told her we didn’t intend to watch swimming, she was taken aback, but recovered in time to say see ya later. It’s fun to live near grandkids.

Dory or Dora?
I am as excited as any child at the fact that Finding Dory will finally be released tomorrow (Friday). I am determined to grab a few grandkids to make it not embarrassing and see the movie as soon as possible. Finding Nemo was one of my favorite movies – not just kids’ movies, but movies overall. I think Ellen DeGeneres could make me laugh watching her vacuum her living room. Not that she vacuums her own living room. The kids have chastised me plenty for inadvertently calling it Finding Dora, but I have started saying the correct name. I get my fishes and my annoying little Spanish-speaking cartoon girls mixed up.

Artistic Training
Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole spent the day with Bill and me on Tuesday. Just after lunch, Addie came by to visit, and brought along makings for an art project. She had paint and canvas and brushes, and a willingness to work with the littler ones. So I dug through my dresser and found three old t-shirts that could be used as painting shirts, put them on the little ones, and the artistic magic began. Addie and I mutually decided giving Cole acrylic paint was a decidedly BAD idea, so he got crayons. He did, however, get a paint shirt….

Cole the painter

Addie Kaiya Cole Mylee patio painting 2016

Lucky Me
One of the bloggers I follow – A Grand Journey – talked about keeping a gratitude journal in her last blog post. Now, I have, of course, heard of this concept before. I even know people who keep such a journal, though I never have. But in her blog post, she mentioned that she had been uncharacteristically down in the dumps a bit as of late, and decided reminding herself of her blessings on a daily basis would help. She did it for 30 days, and it did, indeed, change her mood. Her self-imposed rules were that she would have to write down five things for which she is grateful EACH DAY; she couldn’t repeat; and her gratitude could not be for her family because she already knows how grateful she is for her husband, kids, and grandkids. As she put it, she wanted to “stretch my gratitude muscle.” I have embarked on this challenge, effective yesterday. While I am well aware of how lucky I am, IT IS HARD. Especially the part about not being able to use your family as reasons for gratitude. But it certainly makes you pay attention to the world around you.

Nailed It
I treated myself to a pedicure yesterday (one of my items for which I was thankful yesterday), and the lady sitting next to me was possibly the rudest and crabbiest person I’ve ever been around. I kept my nose in my book so as to not have her direct her ire at me. But the poor nail technician who drew the short straw was being treated incredibly rudely. At one point I heard her ask him, “Why don’t you ever talk?” He said quietly, “We are supposed to not talk too much to our customers to give them peace.”  “Hmphff,” she said. “I think you just can’t speak English.” But to my delight, there was a woman across the room who was very likely in her 90s. She was very pretty and was getting her toenails painted a forest green with a shimmery overcoat. Ms. Crabby Appleton sitting next to me said to her, “I can’t believe you’re getting your nails painted GREEN.” The pretty woman smiled and said, “I think at my age, I can have my nails painted any color I want.”

Ciao.

Frozen Fruit

Posted in Desserts, Recipes by

pmqgdreaz56msss6buvuThe first thing I want to say is I think that the entire world misspells the word sherbet. I pronounce it sher-bert. Always have. Always will. So that’s how it should be spelled. But it isn’t.

It’s kind of like the town in Nebraska – not far from where I grew up – called Norfolk. Now, if you are from Norfolk, VA, you pronounce it Nu-fuuk. Or something like that. But if you live in central or eastern Nebraska, you pronounce it Nor-fork, despite the fact that there is only one “R” in the word. Nebraskans, however, aren’t just being contrary. The name of the town originated from the fact that it is near the north fork of the Elkhorn River, but it became misspelled somewhere along the way.

I don’t know if something similar happened to sherbet, or if perhaps I’m the only one in the world who pronounces it sher-bert. But the bottom line is, it doesn’t really matter. Because no matter how it’s spelled or pronounced, I was bound and determined to make lime sherbet with Kaiya and Mylee yesterday.

I am a big fan of sherbet. Orange sherbet is my favorite, and if you really want to send me over the moon, give me a dreamsicle. When my father and mother owned the bakery in Columbus, they had an ice cream freezer from which they offered sweet treats. Ice cream bars, fudgesicles, ice cream sandwiches, ice cream drumsticks. I loved being able to enjoy an ice cream treat after school or on a Saturday afternoon. And my choice? Almost every time? Dreamsicles. Well, to be honest, they were really orange push-ups. There was orange sherbet on the top and creamy vanilla ice cream on the bottom. Heaven on a stick.

kaiya lime sherbet

I think that Kaiya looks like Princess Kate in her Fascinator.

During the summer, our neighborhood Good Times offers a frozen custard flavor of the month, and on several occasions, that flavor has been dreamsicle. I would be embarrassed to tell you how often I will drive through and sneak a cup of dreamsicle frozen custard. Bill, I’m going to run up to church to light a candle for world peace, I will say, and head over to Good Times. The orange stain above my top lip when I get home gives me away every time.

Instead of orange, however, Kaiya and I made lime sherbet. Mylee was too busy playing with Play Doh. Through the process of finding a recipe, I learned that the difference between ice cream and sherbet is that sherbet uses half and half or milk as opposed to heavy cream. Oh, and fruit of course.

I dug out my ice cream maker for the first time this year. We mixed together the four ingredients and set the ice cream maker in motion.

freezing lime sherbet

Thirty minutes later, we had ourselves some lime sherbet.

lime sherbet

Lime Sherbet, recipe courtesy Amy Johnson from She Wears Many Hats

Ingredients
2 t. lime zest (from about 2 limes)
½ c. lime juice (2-3 limes)
2 c. half and half
½ c. sugar

Process
Zest and juice the limes. Combine zest and juice with the half and half and the sugar. Pour it all into an ice cream maker and freeze according to ice cream maker directions. When frozen thick, serve right away or transfer to a plastic container and place in freezer until ready to serve.

Makes 4 servings.

Nana’s Notes: To be honest, next time I make it, I will add more sugar. It is very tart, which grown-ups are supposed to like. I, however, like my sherbet to be sweet. I like most everything to be sweet. Also, the recipe doesn’t call for any food coloring. But Kaiya was very sad that the sherbet was so, well, not green. So we did add a few drops of green food coloring. Please don’t call the Pure Food Police.

Surrey With the Fringe on the Top

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Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry
When I take you out in my surrey
When I take you out in my surrey with the fringe on top. – Rodgers and Hammerstein

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Shirley Jones and Gordon MacRae (didn’t he star in every Rodgers and Hammerstein movie ever made?)

I recently finished reading a book that had to do with my secret addiction – anything having to do with the British royal family. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I can’t get enough of the Dysfunctional- Family-To-End-All-Dysfunctional-Families. We all have our dirty little secrets and being a Windsorphile is one of mine.

One of the more useless pieces of information that I learned from the book was that the Queen’s favorite song is People Will Say We’re in Love. She loves it so much, in fact, that she has it played every morning for her, by a piper outside her bedroom window. I think it’s a pretty song, but after about 5 minutes’ worth of Rodgers and Hammerstein on a bagpipe, I would ask them to stop. Please, please stop. Never come back. Off with his head.

Anyhoo, if you’re an avid musical fan, you will recognize, as did I, that People Will Say We’re in Love is from one of the many Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. I couldn’t, however, recall which one. Carousel? South Pacific? State Fair? Something where the main female character wears a dirndl skirt and looks longingly into her soon-to-be boyfriend’s eyes as she sings to her. That much I knew. So, like any intelligent person in the 21st century, I Googled it.

It’s from Oklahoma. Shirley Jones sings it wearing gingham. I’ll bet Queen Elizabeth II has never owned a single item in her life made of gingham. Nevertheless, it was the first song that she and her prince danced to, so it’s “their song” and her favorite. She has a right.

Princess Elizabeth and Lt Philip Mountbatten after their wedding November 1947. Mirrorpix/Courtesy Everett Collection (MPWA574514)

Princess Elizabeth and Lt Philip Mountbatten after their wedding November 1947. Mirrorpix/Courtesy Everett Collection (MPWA574514)

But it got me to looking at what other songs of note came from that particular musical. I can’t say I knew a whole lot of them. There is, of course, Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. But I don’t think Pore Jud is Daid, or The Farmer and the Cowman ever made it to the Top 40. But then I saw it: The Surrey With the Fringe on the Top.

And I thought of my dad.

He never owned a surrey with or without fringe, at least as far as I know. But I have a VIVID recollection of him singing that particular song as part of a men’s musical choir originating in Columbus, Nebraska, when they performed on a local Omaha television station. Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry…..

My dad had a beautiful tenor voice. He was, as I have mentioned before, a gifted musician. He was part of the Navy band during World War II. More importantly, at least as it relates to me, he played clarinet and saxophone as part of a dance band directed by one of my mother’s brothers. It was as part of that band that my mom and dad met. She collected money at the door and he sat and stared at her with his tongue hanging out (those would have been my mom’s words). The rest, as they say, is history.

I actually never heard my dad play either one of those instruments. He had long ceased playing in the band by time I was born. I have long suspected that music was how my father WISHED he could have earned his living; baking, however, was more realistic for a family man.

I did, however, hear my father sing on many, many occasions. He sang in the choir at St. Bonaventure Catholic Church in Columbus for many years. And he would still sing loud and clear with the congregation long after leaving the choir.

And then, of course, he sang as part of the Apollo Club, a choir started in Columbus in 1946, headed up by the local musical guru Forest L. Corn. Mr. Corn owned Columbus Music, and also taught band at the public high school where my dad was a student. In fact, it was Mr. Corn who persuaded my father to join the band, thereby changing the course of my dad’s life. My dad always felt a bit guilty because he admitted to me one time that he only joined the band to get out of working in the bakery after school.

But back to my father’s singing voice. It was beautiful, as anyone who heard it would attest to. It was the clearest tenor voice I had ever heard. Well, there was Andy Williams, but hey! I was 6 or 7, and it was my dad! Seriously, however, he really did sing beautifully, and kept the clear tone until he was pretty darn old. God bless him. He’s undoubtedly singing now with the angels.

I think the Apollo Club dissolved sometime in the 70s. But I can still picture the group of men in their matching tuxedoes singing that song on our little black and white television. I think of that every time I hear it. Every. Single. Time.

Watch that fringe and see how it flutters
When I drive them high steppin’ strutters
Nosey pokes’ll peek thru their shutters
And their eyes will pop….

For that tiny little surrey with the fringe on the top!

Forgiveness

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davidcap-blogSpanI always think that when priests and/or other homilists see that the readings from the upcoming Mass include St. Paul’s instruction to women that they should be submissive to their husbands, they must simply groan. Because no matter how the homilist couches St. Paul’s words, it doesn’t lessen the blow to the wives sitting in the congregation. Yes, while it’s true that the words following his suggestion of submission instruct the husband to love his wife, it always seems like the words not added are ….even if they aren’t submitting to you like they are supposed to. Oh, Paul.

On the other hand, priests and/or deacons must have felt like they got a soft pitch when they saw the readings for Sunday’s Mass. God’s abundant love and never-ending forgiveness? Su-weeeeeeet.

Being the brilliant biblical scholar that I am, I must admit that I always get a bit tired of hearing about David, God’s chosen king of the Jews. Such a goody-goody. He could defeat a giant with a mere slingshot and write poetry and play a mean lyre afterwards. He was the Israelites’ favorite and he was God’s favorite.

So I must admit that I am always kind of glad to hear the story of Bathsheba, when David really, really screwed up. I always like a good Walks-On-Water-Guy-Goes-Bad story. Plus, since slaying a giant with a rock seems like such an unobtainable goal, it’s kind of nice to see that David can sin with the best of us. He broke a handful of God’s Ten Commandments in one fell swoop.

In the Second Book of Samuel (part of which was our first reading at Mass), the prophet Nathan assured David that despite his grave sin, God forgave him. But before he assured David that he was forgiven, he told him the parable of the rich guy who had everything, but nevertheless chose to steal the lamb from the poor man who had nothing else in order to feed a visitor. And what does David say? Why, the nerve of that selfish man! And then Nathan tells him, “David, YOU are this man.”

Oops. Who, me? Gulp.

And our gospel reading from St. Luke was the story of Jesus having dinner with the Pharisee only to be interrupted by the woman known far and wide to be a sinner. She has the nerve – the NERVE I tell you – to wash Jesus’ feet with her tears and dry them with her hair. When his host questions Jesus’ willingness to be in the company of a sinner, Jesus asks him a question which is so reminiscent of Nathan’s parable – who would be more grateful to have a debt forgiven, someone who owed 500 days’ wages or someone who owed 50 days’ wages.

The answer is simple, of course. The man who owes more.

God’s love for us is endless and he forgives us, no matter how badly we sin. That’s the truth that both David and the sinning woman knew. They were forgiven. And that’s good news for sinners like me.

God only asks one thing in return – that we forgive others, just as he forgives us. This message of forgiveness is so beautiful that the homilies must write themselves!

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Giddy-Up!

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Yesterday I planned on cooking at home, maybe throwing something on the grill. Instead, we took an unexpected trip downtown to visit a friend in the hospital. It’s good for me to go downtown on occasion because I’m always amazed at how things change so much in this part of Denver with which I used to be so familiar. Now I rarely leave my south side peeps.

bastiens After visiting my friend (who could use prayers if you feel so inclined), Bill and I decided to venture to a restaurant called Bastien’s. Bastien’s has been around in some iteration since the 1930s, but became Bastien’s Restaurant in 1958. I’m pretty sure they haven’t changed the décor since then, and I, for one, am glad of it.

I love me a good steak house.

Bill and I enjoyed our steaks and cocktails, and continued to laugh at a story that my friend had told us just an hour before while visiting her. Bastien’s, you see, is one of her and her husband’s favorite restaurants. And there is just something about being in an old-fashioned steak house that makes you want to drink an old-fashioned cocktail. No strawberry-mango margarita, thank you very much.

So she ordered a gin martini, up with olives. He ordered a Rob Roy.

A Rob Roy is an old-fashioned cocktail similar to a Manhattan, but made instead with Scotch. Like the Manhattan, it was created in the late 1800s, but became popular in the early part of the 20th century, back when stemmed drinking glasses became a thing.

They sat back and waited for their drinks. When they came, they had a bit of a surprise. My friend’s drink was a Darn Good Martini. Her husband’s drink, however, was not in a cocktail glass, but instead was in a tall glass, with an orange and a maraschino cherry. Well, he began becoming a bit concerned, but Rob Roys also have maraschino cherries….

One sip gave him his answer. The server, a young woman who wasn’t even a gleam in her mother’s and father’s eyes when the Rob Roy had been invented, had served him a Roy Rogers. In case you don’t know, a Roy Rogers is a Shirley Temple testoteroned up by using Coke instead of ginger ale.

Roy Rogers on the left; Rob Roy on the right. Giddy-Up.

Roy Rogers on the left; Rob Roy on the right. Giddy-Up.

Cheers! And have a good weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: My Name is Resolute

Posted in Book Reviews by

imgresI first became acquainted with author Nancy E. Turner from a trilogy she wrote about Sarah Prine, a fictitious Arizona settler, whose stories are based on the author’s real-life great-grandmother. These is My Words, Sarah’s Quilt, and The Star Garden are wonderful books that tell about the settling of the area around Tucson and beyond back in the 1800s through Sarah’s diary.

In the way that sometimes happens when you read as much as I, the author fell off my radar screen until recently, when I learned about the intriguingly titled My Name is Resolute. I won’t kid you; it had a really slow start for me. I drudgingly made my way through nearly 100 pages before the story caught me and didn’t let me go. If you read this book, you will likely ask yourself how on earth it couldn’t capture me from the get-go, and I don’t have a good answer.

The story is filled to the brim with interesting characters and every kind of adventure that you could possibly imagine – Indians, pirates, pioneers, Scottish highlanders, good people, bad people, and soldiers from both sides of the Revolutionary War.

In 1729, 10-year-old Resolute Talbot, her sister Patience and her brother Andrew are kidnapped by pirates from their home in Jamaica. Her parents are British nobility who relocated to that island. Their parents are killed in the attack, and the three begin their life of great hardship and sorrow – being kept as slaves — leading ultimately to adventure and excitement. They eventually land in the New World, first Montreal and eventually Lexington, Massachusetts.

My Name is Resolute is an epic novel full of swashbuckling adventures. Eventually, Resolute settles in Lexington, marries, raises a family, and plays an important role in the years before and during America’s War for Independence.

It’s perhaps somewhat tasteless to describe a novel as full of sadness as this as being fun, but it was, indeed, just that. Resolute is a character that I will long remember, as are the others. Strong-willed and self-sufficient, even as a young girl, the novel allows us to see her grow up to be a strong and independent woman. I loved seeing what the world was like during that period of time.

The author is a marvelous writer, and her words could have been written in the mid- to-late 1700s, they read so true to life.

It is a long book, so settle down for a lengthy adventure.

Here is a link to the book.

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