Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Swim With the Fishes

This photo was taken a year ago. Now Kaiya’s swim cap and swim suit are much more conservative!

As I have mentioned several times in the past week or so, swimming is my new life, and I’m glad for it. All of my granddaughters are part of their respective swim teams, and I love to watch them practice in the mornings. The nearby grandkids swim in a pool that is walking distance, so I love to walk over and watch one or two of them as they practice their different strokes over and over and over again. Yesterday morning I took Kaiya and Mylee to their swim team practice, and it was fun to see them perform as well. Swimming, as you may or may not know, is a skill that I never learned. I mentioned this at dinner recently at Beckie’s house, and her son Erik and his family were present. Erik said to me, “Oh, so learning to swim is on your bucket list, huh?” Oh. My. Heavens. NO. NO. NO. I am perfectly content not knowing how to swim. Going to Israel = Bucket List. Learning to swim = No Bucket List.

One-Two-Three, Eyes on Me
As I said, yesterday I watched Kaiya’s and Mylee’s swim team practice for the first time. Mylee has improved by leaps and bounds since I saw her swim (or actually, not swim) last. She now is considerably less afraid of the water. According to her mother, she had gotten to the point of swimming actual strokes, but the change to a new teacher has set her back a bit. She will undoubtedly rebound. But Kaiya displayed her first-born tendencies yesterday (and yes, I realize she has an older sibling, but I think a 14-year age difference gives her permission to behave like a first-born child). The teachers gave their instructions (practice dolphin kicks), and while the other kids threw an occasional dolphin kick, they would mostly mess around while the teachers’ heads were turned. Not Kaiya. She dutifully practiced her dolphin kicking to the point where she could out-kick Flipper.

Catching My Breath
And speaking of swimming (and then I’ll stop, at least for this post), Addie’s mother got a message late on Friday as to what events the kids would participate in the next day at their swim meet. So Addie didn’t learn until late that night that her coach had signed her up to swim in the 400 meter race. 400 meters. That’s sixteen times across the length of the pool. Her mother admitted to me later that she was seriously afraid and sad for her. I didn’t get to see Addie swim that event, but she apparently tackled it was aplomb and finished the race with a smile. I wouldn’t have been smiling. At the same meet, Dagny raced the 100 meter freestyle. The buzzer went off and she dove into the pool. Immediately upon impact, her goggles fell off. So she swam 100 meters with her eyes closed. Yes, she had a bit of a time staying on point. Nevertheless, she ended up with a fourth-place ribbon. My grandkids are gamers!

Beat Me Up, Scotty
Shortly after I planted my (extremely small) garden a few weeks ago, we got a hail storm that put a bit of a hurt on some of my plants. My petunias fared pretty well, because petunias thumb their little petunia noses at all kinds of iniquity. My two pepper plants look a bit worse for wear, but I think they will make it. My cherry tomato seems to be recovering, but my Better Boy tomato was not really getting better. So yesterday I pulled it out by the roots, dug a bigger hole, put an egg in the bottom of the hole (something I did last year but forgot to do this year, and last year’s crop was phenomenal), and planted a tomato that was at least twice as big as the one that bit the dust. Now I will just keep my fingers crossed. We are in that June Colorado pattern of sunny mornings, stormy afternoons and late clearing skies. The storms can produce hail, but I hope it won’t.

Happy Spring, Mom
Every year when I plant my flowers, I think of my mom. I especially think of her when I plant my geraniums, because she always, ALWAYS had red geraniums in her summer garden. This time of year, my Snow in the Summer are in bloom, and I think they are beautiful. And my columbine just couldn’t be prettier. Spring makes me happy.

Ciao!

8Jun2016

Nature v. Nurture

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

There have been a number of occasions when my sister Bec and I have been together someplace, and a total stranger has come up to us and said, “Oh my heavens, you must be sisters. You look like you could be twins.”

The first time that happened, we were at a store in Washington D.C., back in the days when Bec lived there. We were so taken aback that our mouths dropped open and I think we weren’t even able to respond to that woman.

We had never considered that we looked alike in the least little bit. She has dark hair and Dad’s beautiful olive-colored complexion. My coloring is more like my mother’s. Still, over the years since then, I have come to see what people are talking about…..

It’s the chin, my friends. But what you can’t see in the photo is that we also walk the same, and have many of the same facial expressions. As we get older, the facial expression is unfortunately mostly confusion. Whatevah.

I spent much of Saturday (as I will likely spend many days this summer) at swim meets. Kaiya swam in three events at her swim meet and Maggie Faith, Dagny, and Addie all swam in various events at their swim club.

Anyway, as I was standing by the pool at Kaiya’s meet early Saturday morning, Court walked over to me and said, “Where’s Kaiya?” He knew she was with team members who were about to swim in the freestyle event, but couldn’t spot her. “I think that’s her over there with her legs crossed,” I told Court. He laughed and said he knew it was her because she’s the only girl in the world who crosses her legs that way.

I looked again carefully and couldn’t help but laugh. Sure enough, she had her legs crossed at her knee, and then again at her ankle. But what I immediately explained to Court is that Kaiya is not the only girl in the world who crosses her legs that way. In fact, that is exactly how I cross my legs, and always have.

What’s more, that is exactly how my mother – Court’s Nana and Kaiya’s Great-Nana – always crossed her legs. I actually didn’t realize that until after she had passed away. My niece Maggie came up to me when I was sitting that way and told me that I reminded her of Nana because that is exactly how Nana used to sit. Here is proof…..

The newspaper blocks the proof a bit, so you will have to take my word for it. She is second from the right.

Anyway, it got me to thinking about how family traits can unexpectedly show up in the most unique ways. As I said at the beginning of this post, strangers have commented on the resemblance of Bec and me. And yet, my whole life, friends and relatives have said that I look just like my mother. And I don’t think people have ever said that to Bec. I wonder why. I suspect that it has less to do with the shape of our noses or the color of our eyes or the way we smile. I think it has a lot to do with mannerisms and personality. There must just be things that I do that remind people of my mother. That fact has always made me happy.

I love all of my grandkids. But I won’t lie; the fact that the ones with whom I share blood occasionally pop up with something that reminds me of, well, me, tickles the heck out of me.

So here’s to genetics, family traits, and that one dimple that Kaiya has that replicates mine.

7Jun2016

What Shall We Call It?

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Just before this past Christmas, my friend Carol gave me two glorious quarts of peaches as a gift, peaches she had, in fact, put up herself. I’ve undertaken that same activity many times, and I know that it is a messy job, but well worth it when you can eat Palisade (Colorado) peaches in the middle of winter. As it happens, I hadn’t canned this past year, except for a batch of dill pickles in which I forgot to put in the dill. Sigh. So I was happy to get them.

Unfortunately, we were leaving very shortly for our winter in Arizona. We had left our car in AZ when we had opened up the house in late October, and so we were flying. Since we couldn’t bring them with us on the airplane, they sat on my counter – looking beautiful – until yesterday afternoon, when this happened…..

My phone rang early yesterday afternoon, and one of our granddaughters was calling to see if she could come over. I say one of our granddaughters because the truth is, I can’t tell any of them apart on the telephone. Well, at least not Maggie Faith and Dagny. I agreed, but I wasn’t sure who would walk through my door. But the bottom line was, IT DIDN’T MATTER. I was happy to see either one.

It was Maggie Faith.

Now, I learned recently that both Maggie and Dagny like to get creative in the kitchen. They like to prepare food using recipes they make up as they go along. For example, the other day, Dagny squeezed a lime, added some sugar, some oreos, and some M&Ms, and called it Lime Sherbert. Don’t ask.

As an aside, when she asked for some sugar, I brought out my sugar canister – nothing special; something I’ve had for years. “Oh, Nana, that’s beautiful,” she said. It’s not, but I’ll take a compliment any time I can get it. And when I brought out my electric citrus juicer so that she could get all of the juice out of the lime, I thought she was going to faint. “That is SO AWESOME,” she said. And I won’t even tell you what she thought about my Lazy Susan cupboard. From her reaction, you would think her mom and dad cook in a cave.

Anyhoo, yesterday, Maggie – who has been eyeing those peaches since we got back from Arizona – asked if she could make something using the peaches. I was willing, but nervous that the peaches would be used for a concoction similar to Dagny’s.

“How about a peach pie?” I asked her.

Boom.

So I went to my freezer, which could, in fact, have Jimmy Hoffa buried somewhere inside, and pulled out a frozen pie crust. I opened up the bag and told Maggie we had to let it thaw. After a competitive game of Crazy 8s (in which I was heartily defeated) I returned to my pie crust, began trying to unfold it, and it basically crumbled into pieces. I checked the pull date and gasped in horror. I am going to tell you what it was, but only because I know that Maggie is going to spill the beans on me anyway because she couldn’t stop laughing.

October 2005.

I’m telling you – Jimmy Hoffa’s body.

At any rate, we used some (probably stale) graham crackers and made a crust, and baked it with the peaches (slightly sweetened with sugar and thickened with flour), and called it a peach pie…..

During preparation, there was lots of tasting going on….

Because the pie was entirely ad hoc, I will not include a recipe. If you would like Dagny’s recipe for lime/oreo/sugar/M&M juice, contact her directly.

By the way, at the end of the day, Maggie’s peach pie was an epic fail. The peaches were delicious; the graham crackers were so stale I suspect they were probably purchased sometime in the Nixon Administration. My goal this week is to go through my freezer and pantry and discard any food items that aren’t from this decade!

This blog is linked to Katherine’s Corner.

6Jun2016

Miracles

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

In the past few weeks, I learned some difficult news about a couple of my friends. One was diagnosed with cancer; the other – a woman of my age — learned that she has early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. On both occasions I was nearly knocked off my feet. I reminded myself – once again – to never, NEVER whine and/or complain because I – on only two occasions — have had to go to the hospital and get a nasal gastric tube inserted. Life is all about perspective, my friends.

So I have, of course, added these two friends to my prayer list of people who are ill. But I can’t help but feel as though prayer seems just so insignificant sometimes. I pray for miracles, and wait for the miracles to happen. They never seem to happen, unfortunately. As far as I know, my prayers haven’t brought anyone back from the dead.

I thought of my friends yesterday as I listened to the readings. The first reading was from first Book of Kings, and talked about Elijah bringing a poor, lonely widow’s son back to life simply by asking God to do so. And then, in St. Luke’s Gospel, Jesus raised the son of a widow from the dead because her crying moved him so.

Whaaaat? Maybe the problem is that I’m not a widow. Or maybe I’m not praying hard enough, or in the right way.

Or maybe, just maybe, my prayers are being answered in unexpected ways.

Beginning immediately after Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, I began praying every day that God would perform a miracle and cure him of the disease. Why not ask, I told myself. And every six months when we would go to see his neurologist, they would tell us he was doing remarkably well, but, yes, he still has Parkinson’s disease.

Finally, it occurred to me that while he wasn’t being miraculously cured of this thus-far incurable disease, he is still able to do everything he could do before. He might do it slower. He might need some help on occasion. Perhaps as time goes on, he will need more help. But God has given us a full seven years since his diagnosis to continue to live a good life. And we have grown closer, and I have learned a bit more about patience. All small miracles.

My friend who has been diagnosed with cancer posted a picture on Facebook recently of her and her husband eating breakfast al fresco at Denver Biscuit Company, one of her favorite restaurants. In the photo, her husband is looking at her and has his arm gently around her neck, and they are both smiling. It is the sweetest picture, and I cried for an hour after seeing it. In fact, as I write these words, I am crying. Perhaps the miracle isn’t that her cancer will be cured (though I hope it will be) but that the two of them will grow ever closer as she tackles her future.

I will keep praying for miracles because God can do anything. But I will try to stop sitting back and waiting for a dead man to sit up or a leper to be cured and appreciate the small miracles that happen every day.

Here are my miracles….

This post linked to the GRAND Social

4Jun2016

Saturday Smile: Feel the Love

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

When we arrived at Alastair’s continuation ceremony on Thursday, we were surprised to learn that he was selected to be one of the speakers. Each teacher (and there were three) chose one of their students to reflect on their experiences at the school. No surprise to anyone that Alastair did a magnificent job.

His sisters Dagny and Maggie Faith were given permission to leave their respective classrooms and watch their brother’s ceremony. It was quite hot, and there was no shelter from the sun.

Following Alastair’s speech, and just prior to the diploma ceremony, Dagny told her mom she was going back to her classroom. “You don’t want to see your brother get his diploma?” his mother asked. “No,” she replied. “It’s too hot.”

Off she went. A few minutes later, she comes back. Her mom was happy to see her. “You decided you wanted to see him get his diploma?” she asked.

“No,” Dagny admitted. “But on my way back to the classroom, I saw there was cake in the gym for afterwards.”

What you will do for a piece of cake!

Have a great weekend.

3Jun2016

Friday Book Whimsy: Prayers the Devil Answers

Posted in Book Reviews by kzmclain

Sharyn McCrumb has always been one of my favorite authors. Well, actually that’s not entirely accurate. She has a series featuring a forensic anthropologist named Elizabeth MacPherson that never grabbed me, though I read a couple of books in the series. But McCrumb’s ballad series books are pure poetry to my ears.

All of her books take place in the Appalachian Mountains, deep in the hollers of Tennessee. Prayers the Devil Answers is no exception. While not part of her Ballad Series, I was excited because it purportedly had the mystical element I like so much in her ballad books. The ghosts and folklore and old wives tales told from generation to generation. Banjos strumming. You know.

Prayers the Devil Answers has a good, solid, interesting storyline. It is 1934 and in an effort to survive the hard times, Ellendor and her husband, along with their two small boys, move from the country, where they live with relatives, into town where there are still jobs to be had. Her husband not only becomes employed, but soon is elected sheriff. Unfortunately, he unexpectedly dies of pneumonia, leaving Ellie with no way to care for her sons. Ellie manages to talk the town fathers into letting her finish off her husband’s term, thereby providing her with income.

And while she – and those who hired her – assumed her job would be nothing more than paperwork, a murder takes place in her county. The man is convicted and sentenced to death by hanging. Unfortunately for Ellie, the law requires that it is the sheriff who must do the actual hanging. Is this something that Ellie will be able to handle?

Prayers the Devil Answers is a story of the strength of family, the tenacity of women who must provide, and the sorrow that can creep into your life when you least expect it.

Overall, I liked the book. McCrumb is a phenomenal writer. But there was something about this story that I found odd and frankly off putting. The prologue tells a detailed story about a group of mountain girls who, a few years prior to when this story takes place, conduct what’s called a Dumb Supper. According to Wikipedia, in the mountain culture of Appalachia, Dumb Suppers are secret suppers held at midnight in which the dead may come back and talk to their loved ones. In this story, however, the Dumb Supper is held to determine who among the young girls in attendance will marry. Something unexpected transpires at the Dumb Supper that causes much dismay.

And then the book begins, and for all intents and purposes, the Dumb Supper is forgotten, except for a very brief side note later in the book that has almost nothing really to do with the story. It was like the author just wanted to get this old piece of folklore into the book. It made no sense to me and seemed just odd.

Odd enough, in fact, that it contributes to my not being able to highly recommend this book. Read Sharyn McCrumb, but choose one of the novels with Nora Bonesteel as part of the story. The Hangman’s Beautiful Daughter would be a good place to start.

Here is a link to the book.

2Jun2016

Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Downy on Ice
We spent yesterday morning closing up the house in AZ, something that always makes me a little sad. I’m not sure exactly why, because I’m very excited to be going back to Denver for the summer and fall. There is no place nicer in the summer months. There is just something so sad about seeing our patio with no furniture and all of the blinds closed and the doors locked up. Closing up involves thinking about what won’t survive the hot house over the summer months. That’s why there are dish washing pods and Downy fabric softener in my refrigerator, right next to the ink from Bill’s printer. We turn off the air conditioner altogether, so it is likely the house gets in the neighborhood of 95 to 100 on occasion during the summer months.

Blissful?
The other day I bought a bra. I didn’t go out to look specifically for a bra, but found one that I have owned before and liked, so on a whim, I bought it. I noticed the name as I was paying for the bra – Blissful Moments by Warner. It occurred to me that I can’t ever say I have a single, solitary blissful moment any time of the day when I’m wearing any bra. They are hot; they ride up; the straps pinch my shoulders. Perhaps I’m buying the wrong bra, but I never feel blissful. The happiest time of my day is when I take off my Blissful Moment and put on my Even More Blissful Moment – my pajamas.

Batter Up
I don’t know why, but we often meet interesting people while standing in one line or another at the airport. We recently met a woman by the name of Betty, with whom we had a discussion about baseball. It turns out Betty – who is in the neighborhood of 75 or 80 years old – is a baseball fan. She was telling us that Coors Field – home of the Colorado Rockies — provides a number of inexpensive tickets for each home game in a certain section for seniors who want to attend a home Rockies game. Betty told us a group of folks from her senior housing facility attends three or four ball games each year. They call themselves the Senior Sluggers. That made me happy.

Cheers!
I find as I am getting older, I am getting crabbier. Don’t get me wrong; I have always been crabby. I am just crabbier about stupider things. For example, I heartily dislike when people on cooking shows “cheer” bites of food. No. Stop it. You cheer drinks. You say things like Cheers, or Salut, or Chin Chin while you tink your glasses. You don’t cheer bites of pork chop or pieces of coconut cream pie. Just don’t. The other unreasonable annoyance in my life is the prevalence of hugging people you barely know, or don’t know at all. Perhaps it is my mother coming out in me. She was never a hugger. I, on the other hand, happily hug people I know and love. I don’t want to hug people I have just met. See? Crabby.

Sunrise, Sunset
I keep making allusions to it, but this morning Bill and I will attend the continuation of our grandson Alastair, who will be moving to middle school next fall. When my daughter-in-law sent me the kids’ upcoming calendar of events and I spotted that one, I nearly had a heart attack. I’m not entirely sure why. I have watched him grow up. He is tall and strong and smart and very grown up. But seeing the word continuation as it relates to Alastair just knocked me upside the head. Say it ain’t so. Next thing I know, he will be graduating from high school. And all of this means, of course, that Addie is an eighth-grader. And all of the grandkids are growing up. Argh.

Ciao.

1Jun2016

Dry Heat

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

So yesterday, I thought about a segment of one of my favorite movies – Good Morning, Vietnam; specifically the scene in which Robin Williams takes the mic and does the segment on how hot it was in Vietnam. It goes something like this….

How hot is it out there? It’s hot, damn hot, real hot; it’s so hot in my shorts that I can cook things, you know, crotch pot cooking; like you were born on the sun.

Robin Williams, of course, goes on and on about how hot it is and lucky for you, I won’t. But I will tell you that as we leave the Valley of the Sun to head back to Colorado for the summer and fall, it was hot. Damn hot. And it hadn’t even reached 100 degrees. It was dangerously close, hovering around 99, but I don’t think it hit the 100 mark. That doesn’t happen until later this week, when, by Saturday it will be 115 degrees. Like you were born on the sun.

There have only been a few occasions when Bill and I have been here during the really, really hot period. We went to three outdoor high school graduations in late May at which we nearly melted. And my Arizona nephew and his wife married in July at what was thankfully an indoor ceremony. There was a brief scare when the bride learned following the church ceremony that the air conditioning wasn’t working at the site of their reception, but it ended up being all good. Well, except for the video at which they caught Crazy Aunt Kris blowing down the front of her dress to try and cool off. I continue my never-ending quest to try and destroy that video permanently…. But it was hot; damn hot; real hot.

So, we are getting out in the nick of time. My sister Bec, who has only been a permanent resident of Arizona for a few years, says she has finally gotten used to the fact that now that she lives in the Valley of the Sun, she looks at summer the same way she used to look at winter when she lived on the East Coast. Just as she would cover up or put away her furniture in October, here she covers up or puts away her furniture in June. And turns on Netflix and doesn’t turn it off until late October.

I asked her recently if she can sit out and have coffee in the morning on her patio, and the answer was, not really. There comes a point when the temperature at night doesn’t get below 90 degrees when it is already too hot in the morning to enjoy coffee al fresco.

That would make me sad, except I think about my family in Colorado shoveling snow in mid-January while we sit on our outside Arizona patio and have our coffee. The Garden of Eden doesn’t exist anywhere, I’m afraid.

Well, maybe in Hawaii.

We fly home tonight, so when next you hear from me, we will be back in Colorado getting our garden ready for the summer and sitting on our patio having morning coffee.

And then watching our 11-year-old grandson Alastair’s continuation ceremony from 5^th grade to Middle School. Say it ain’t so.

31May2016

You Say to-may-to; I Say To-mah-to

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Here is a typical conversation Bill and I might have regarding my NanasWhimsiesShop on Etsy….

Bill – I sent you the photos of the aprons for your Esty shop.

Me – It’s not Esty; it’s Etsy.

Bill – Yeah, whatever. Anyway, how much are you going to charge?

Me – I’m not sure. What do you think?

Bill – I don’t know. What are other Esty shops charging?

Me – It’s not Esty; it’s Etsy.

Bill – Yeah, whatever.

And so on and so on and so on. While Bill loves to see if he can get on my last nerve, this isn’t one of those times. He simply can’t remember that it is Etsy and not Esty. Frankly, Esty would be a more sensible and more easily pronounceable name. But the fact of the matter is IT IS ETSY.

But for the love of heaven, why must I correct him? What does it matter in the whole scheme of life? It doesn’t.

All of this is to let you know that I am going to be selling aprons soon in my shop on ETSY. And when I say “I” I actually mean “Bill” because he currently is the sole creator of the aprons. Bill is a man of many talents, and sewing just happens to be one of them.

“A sewing machine is just another tool,” he says, quoting his father who once made Bill’s sister a quilt.

The more he makes, the better the result. I have and wear three aprons currently, the most recent being one of his best. He has begun lining them, which makes a huge difference in the quality. The aprons that will be for sale first are heavy, made out of sturdy canvas material, good for either barbecuing or as a shop apron. Rather than requiring the wearer to tie the apron, they are adjustable via a snap closure. Amenities include a pocket for a cell phone and a pocket for a beer. What more does a man need?

Here is an example, with our son Court acting as the model….

A Bronco apron is the obvious first choice to sell. However, Bill already sent a gift of an Alabama “Roll Tide” apron, complete with the mandatory Paul “Bear” Bryant houndstooth trim, to his brother David.

I will begin selling the aprons on my ETSY page very soon – frankly as soon as I get the photo posted – and then begin taking special orders. But I wanted to make the offer to my blog readers first. If for no other reason than that Bill’s newest hobby will come as no surprise to those who know him.

Just remember to look for ETSY and not ESTY, no matter what he says.

30May2016

Proud to be an American

Posted in Reluctant Traveler, Whimsies by kzmclain

My sister Jen requested that for Memorial Day, and in honor of the men and women who have given their life for our freedom, I rerun the blog post I wrote back in 2008 when Bill and I visited Normandy, France, during our European Adventure. That visit will always be one of the most profound experiences in my life, and something I will never forget.

She also asked me why in the world is the beach that was stormed on that rainy June day back in 1944 called Omaha Beach. I, of course, being the astute history scholar that I am, had no idea. So I Googled it. From what I can tell after quick research, no one knows quite for certain how the names Omaha Beach and Utah Beach were chosen. They were code words for the battles. It seems likely that they were chosen because they were easily understood over radio airwaves and easily communicated through Morse Code. Some say that the US Military had noticed that the Germans chose code words that were quite easy to figure out — Operation Sealion for an amphibious assault, for example. Both Omaha and Utah are landlocked, thereby giving no clue to a water ambush. One theory is that they were named after two carpenters — one from Omaha and one from Provo, Utah — who helped build the headquarters for the invasion planners. That seems unlikely to me, but then again, Ike didn’t really keep me posted on his thoughts. There were, in fact, five beaches involved in the June attack — Utah and Omaha (U.S), Gold and Sword (Great Britain), and Juno (Canada). Each country selected the code names for their attack.

The reality that these literally thousands of men who jumped from their boats onto the beach knowing full well that there was a likelihood that they would be killed simply takes my breath away. I am filled with love, honor, respect and gratitude for these men, and for all of the men and women who have served since, and who continue to serve today.

Happy Memorial Day. God bless America.

Here is my 2008 post from Reluctant Traveler…..

D-Day

Sunday, August 3, 2008

After spending the entire day yesterday looking at the various sites of the battles that were fought to liberate France, and eventually to win World War II, as we drove home I asked Bill how he felt. “Pretty proud to be American,” he answered. I knew exactly what he meant.

The day was kind of dreary, one of the few overcast days we’ve had during our entire adventure. It couldn’t quite make up its mind – it would drizzle, then the sun would peak out of clouds. It never quite rained. The weather suited the day, we felt. The weather was overcast too on June 6, 1944.

Traffic was awful. Everyone was on the autostrada getting away for holiday. What should have been an hour-and-a-half drive took us twice that long.

Since we only had a day, we decided to focus on the areas in which America had the impact. As such, we only saw the Canadian cemetery in the distance as we drove by, and the same was true for Sword, Juno, and Gold Beaches, where Great Britain and Canada soldiers came on shore.

Our first stop was just above the little French town of Arromanches, high on the cliffs above the Normandy beaches, where there was a 360 degree theater. The film shown on this circular screen was powerful. The film director intermixed current scenes from the little towns that line the Normandy coast with film taken on June 6, 1944, as our soldiers stormed the beach. There was no dialogue, and the only sounds you heard were the sounds heard by the soldiers as guns fired and planes flew overhead, or the sounds of a peaceful rural French life. The 1944 scenes were graphic, violent, poignant, and awe-inspiring while the current scenes were pretty and colorful and filled with joy. The contrast made a very strong point – the towns around the Normandy beaches owe their freedom from the Nazis to the United States of America and the other allies.

After viewing the film, we got back in our car to drive to the little French town of Longues-sur-Mer. Here we stopped in a small boulangerie and picked up two ham, Gruyere cheese, and tomato sandwiches smeared with good French butter, and two wonderful pastries for dessert. We then drove a few blocks towards the sea, to an area where there were four German bunkers with their guns still intact. These guns had the ability to shoot up to 13 miles. The clear shot the Germans had of the beach was absolutely bone-chilling.

We ate our lunch at one of the little picnic tables they had set up for that purpose. As we ate, we tried to figure out how the French bakers can get the baguette so perfectly crusty on the outside and so chewy and delicious on the inside. It’s a reality I will continue to ponder.

Our next stop was Omaha Beach, and the American cemetery. We walked through the museum, which gave a lot of information about the events leading up to the war, and even more interesting (at least to me), the events and discussions that went on during the days just prior to D-Day. While I could always imagine how much thought went into planning a battle such as that fought on June 6, I had never really realized that the Americans had tricked the Germans into thinking a bigger battle was going to be fought elsewhere. The Americans used false communications, fake airplanes, and other kinds of trickery that helped catch the Germans off guard and lulled them into thinking that, even as our soldiers were storming the beaches, this battle was not to be taken that seriously.

After visiting the museum, we walked down to the beach. I think of my entire day, this was what moved me the most. The beach area from where the water meets the shore to where the soldiers would have some trees or shrubs for protection was easily the length of two football fields. (And speaking of football, the next time I hear a sports announcer refer to a football player as a hero, I think I will put a rock through my television screen. Football players are not heroes. Twenty-year-old boys climbing off boats carrying hundreds of pounds on their backs, running to the shore, and then crawling on their bellies for 200 yards or more while getting shot at are heroes.)

After looking at the beach, we walked back up to the cemetery. Of course, the sight of all of these white marble crosses and stars of David is poignant beyond belief. Each marker has the name and rank of the soldier and the day he died. I always forget that the battles of Normandy went on not just for this one day, but for months. There are a number of markers that bear no name, but say only God knows who he is. Very sad.

We left the cemetery and drove a bit further up the coast to Pointe du Hoc Ranger Monument. We decided to stop here at the last moment, and I’m glad we did. Pointe du Hoc was an area where, early on June 6, 300 US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs of this heavily German-fortified position to secure it for the allies. They were successful, but only after losing over two-thirds of the soldiers. Out of the 300 Rangers, 95 survived. The area was heavily bombed and the huge holes where the bombs had dropped are amazing and a somber reminder of the power of those bombs.

Our last stop of the day was in Ste Mere Eglise, the first town to be liberated by the American soldiers on June 7, 1944. This pretty little town is in the general area where the 101st and 82nd Airborne soldiers dropped early on June 6 to land behind enemy lines. If you saw the movie The Longest Day, you will recall that one soldier got caught on the church steeple and played dead for a number of hours while German soldiers took shots at him. As he hung helplessly, he watched the ensuing battle below. The people of this town, to this day, have American flags hanging and have a parachute with a dummy hanging on the steeple of the church in commemoration.

It had been a long and somber day, but one that made me very proud.

This post linked to the GRAND Social.

Nana's Whimsies

Musings of a Baby Boomer….

Author Archives: kzmclain

Thursday Thoughts

Nature v. Nurture

What Shall We Call It?

Miracles

Saturday Smile: Feel the Love

Friday Book Whimsy: Prayers the Devil Answers

Thursday Thoughts

Dry Heat

You Say to-may-to; I Say To-mah-to

Proud to be an American