Flip For It

Posted in Cooking for One or Two, Recipes, Whimsies by kzmclain

The happiest day in Mylee’s short life thus far, according to her parents, is the day that McDonalds announced they would serve breakfast all day. What does that mean for Mylee?

PANCAKES ANY TIME OF THE DAY OR NIGHT!

Snowcones are better than pancakes on a hot summer day, even for Mylee.

Miss Mylee loves her some pancakes. (As a secret aside, McDonalds’ announcement made her grandfather pretty happy as well. Bill can pass on the pancakes, but he loves their Sausage McMuffins with Egg. Unlike Mylee, who cheerfully eats pancakes at any hour of the day, I think Bill considers the Sausage McMuffins to be primarily breakfast food; however, for him, the breakfast period lasts past 10:30, the time when McDonalds used to stop serving breakfast. I have seen him look quite sad when he tried to order the Number 2 Breakfast Combo at 10:32, only to be told it’s time for two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onions on a sesame seed bun.)

I like pancakes too, though not as much as Mylee. I like my pancakes in the morning. I’ve never been a huge fan of the upside down dinner — you know, breakfast for dinner. And I’m a bit fussier than Mylee. I prefer my pancakes with real maple syrup. I think my daughter-in-law Lauren agrees with me, being a life-long Vermonter. Vermont is the only place I’ve ever visited where the breakfast restaurants only serve real maple syrup with pancakes. I venture to say they go even further and serve only maple syrup from Vermont. No Oh Canada for them.

I was recently babysitting Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole for a bit after school. Like most kids, Kaiya and Mylee come home from school hungry. Kaiya fended for herself, but I asked Mylee what she would like for after-school snack. Her immediate reply? “Pancakes.”

Now, that made me laugh because I’m quite certain her mommy doesn’t walk in the door after picking them up from school and start flipping pancakes. It reminded me of the time that I was babysitting The Cousins while Dave and Jll were away on a trip. Alastair was the first one up, as usual. I asked him what he wanted for breakfast. “Banana bread,” he said without hesitation. “Well, I don’t have any banana bread,” I told him. “Then, you could make some, Nana,” he replied, undoubtedly thinking, “well, duh!” Apparently my grandkids think that when it comes to cooking, I have superpowers. Ain’t so, I’m afraid.

I very often make pancakes for breakfast, and ALWAYS do when I have grandchildren sleepovers. Some like them with chocolate chips. Others prefer to have an M&M or 2 or 3 dropped into the batter. Kaiya is a purist and wants only a smear of Nutella on hers.

Pancakes from scratch are the easiest thing in the world to make. No boxes necessary. I use the recipe out of my torn and food-stained Betty Crocker Cookbook that I’ve had for 45 years, and it never fails me. One requirement (at least for me)? A cast-iron griddle.

Pancakes, courtesy Betty Crocker Cookbook

Ingredients
1 egg
1 c. all-purpose flour
¾ c. milk
1 T. sugar
2 T. shortening, melted, or vegetable oil
3 t. baking powder
½ t. salt

Process
Beat egg with hand beater until fluffy; beat in the remaining ingredients just until smooth. For thinner pancakes, stir in additional milk. Grease heated griddle if necessary.

For each pancake, pour about 3 T batter from tip of large spoon or from pitcher onto hot griddle. Cook pancakes until puffed and dry around edges. Turn and cook other side until golden brown.

If using self-rising flour, omit baking powder and salt.

Nana’s Notes: I never use an electric mixer; I always use a whisk and mix by hand. For reasons I can’t explain, the first pancake never browns properly. It tastes fine, but is consistently less pretty than the rest. For that reason, I always start with just one pancake to get it out of its system. From then on, I cook two or three at a time. I ALWAYS use self-rising flour and therefore have no need for baking powder. That way, as long as I have self-rising flour on hand (which I always make sure I do), I can make pancakes on a whim because I almost always have the rest of the ingredients. Any leftover pancakes go into the freezer and can be heated up by putting the frozen pancakes into the microwave for one minute. Not quite as good as freshly made, but it will satisfy Mylee in a pinch.

15Dec2015

Give it Up

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Every one of us has said something along the lines of “He (or she) is a saint on earth.” I know a number of this kind of person, many of whom read this blog (I put that in so that each one of you can imagine I’m talking about you).

But when I think of a so-called saint on earth, I can’t help but think of my grandmother. I truly never heard her say a bad word about anyone. She was kind and generous and loved everyone. And everyone loved her back. One example of her holiness is that when she went to bed each night, she would lay on the bed with her head at the foot rather than the head of the bed. Why? She said it was so that she wouldn’t fall asleep before she finished her prayers. Once she finished, she would turn around and sleep peacefully.

In Sunday’s gospel from St. Luke, the crowds asked St. John the Baptist what they needed to do to get to heaven. St. John’s answer was simple. “Whoever has two cloaks should share with the person who has none. And whoever has food should do likewise.”

That’s really not too complicated, is it? You don’t have to have a halo or angelic wings to do what God wants you to do. It isn’t necessary to part the Red Sea. You just have to live your everyday life, but live it stupendously – be the best you can be. Be generous. Be faithful to God’s Word. Be kind to others.

My dad always told us kids this story. During the hard times when he was growing up, there were lots of people really struggling in Columbus, Nebraska. Grammie and Grandpa’s bakery was downtown, only a couple of blocks from the railroad tracks. To this day, numerous trains pass through Columbus each day. But during the Depression of the 1930s, many men who had lost their jobs, their families, their livelihood, took to riding the rails. We called them bums. Today we would call them homeless, but nobody used that word in those days. These lost souls would make their way to the bakery, where they apparently knew (or quickly learned) that they could get some bread or rolls from my grandmother at no cost. Dad used to say that as quickly as Grandpa was taking bread out of the oven in the back end of the bakery, Grammie was giving it away to poor, jobless men in the front end.

She exemplified St. John the Baptist’s command to help the poor. She lived the word of God. She was a saint on earth, and is now a saint in heaven. I hope I can see her again someday.

14Dec2015

Period

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

Almost every morning when I open up my email, Comcast greets me with some interesting headline that does just want they want it to – draws me in to read the story and hopefully support the advertisers. The other morning, the headline that drew me was The Common Texting Practice That Makes You Seem Insincere.

Wow, I thought. I am a big texter. True, I hold my phone in one hand and use my index finger to tap out the words with the other rather than using only one hand and a thumb like truly sophisticated texters. Still, the story drew me in because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t doing anything that made me seem insincere, something I almost never am.

Maybe it’s ending texts with TTYL, the way my granddaughter Addie almost always ends her texts. The first time she did this, I had to look it up. I’m not kidding you. I had no idea what she was telling me. (For other baby boomers not totally into the texting lingo, it means talk to you later). But she always seems sincere.

Anyway, when I found out what the practice was that screamed insincerity, you could have knocked me over with a feather. And it must be true because it came from a RESEARCH STUDY. I can’t even imagine how many people now believe me to be insincere. Because the practice is using a period at the end of a sentence.

Such as….

You: Are we still on for dinner tonight

Me: Yes, that’s fine.

Screams insincerity, doesn’t it?

The problem is that as a writer, and one who loves good grammar even if my grammar ain’t always perfect, I simply can’t write a text message without using punctuation. Just can’t. Question marks, periods, exclamation points, you name it, and I use it.

For the record, I’m not much into using shortcuts in my text messages either. Oh, I have been known to use the occasional “u” instead of “you” or “K” instead of “OK” (though typing that extra O doesn’t really seem that time consuming). I also almost always put BTW instead of writing out by the way, (which is so long I might actually throw my finger out of joint). But I’m not a bit put off when others use shortcuts, as long as I can figure out what the shortcut means.

But back to using punctuation – specifically periods – in text messages. I did my own research, i.e., I checked my most recent messages from Court (we text so often that if I didn’t see him occasionally, I would forget what his voice sounds like). His style is apparently: No period at the end of the final sentence of a text. Punctuation in all previous sentences. Hmmm. Does that mean he is somewhat insincere?

It used to be so easy when we communicated by a telephone attached to the wall with a cord and featuring a rotary dial. No one could see your face as you rolled your eyes.

Finally, does it strike anyone else as odd that good research dollars were spent by the University of Birmingham (in England, not Alabama) to fund this particular study instead of maybe trying to find out how to grow more crops to feed the poor and hungry of the world?

Priorities people! Period.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

12Dec2015

Saturday Smile: History of the Apron

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

You might recall that I recently spoke about my fond feelings for my grandmother’s aprons. You can read that post here. This past week my cousin Stephanie sent me this History of Aprons. We shared a grandmother who always wore an apron, and the story made me smile. I’m not sure who wrote it I’m afraid, so I apologize for the lack of attribution.

My grandmother in her apron.

The principal use of Grandma’s apron was to protect the dress underneath. Because she only had a few, it was easier to wash aprons than dresses and they used less material, but along with that, it served as a potholder for removing hot pans from the oven.

It was wonderful for drying children’s tears, and on occasion was even used for cleaning out dirty ears.

From the chicken coop, the apron was used for carrying eggs, fussy chicks, and sometimes half-hatched eggs to be finished in the warming oven.

When company came, those aprons were ideal hiding places for shy kids.

And when the weather was cold, grandma wrapped it around her arms.

Those big old aprons wiped many a perspiring brow, bent over the hot woodstove.

Nana Kris wearing an apron…..

Chips and kindling wood were brought into the kitchen in that apron.

From the garden, it carried all sorts of vegetables. After the peas had been shelled, it carried out the hulls.

In the fall, the apron was used to bring in apples that had fallen from the trees.

When unexpected company drove up the road, it was surprising how much furniture that old apron could dust in a matter of seconds.

When dinner was ready, Grandma walked out onto the porch, waved her apron, and the men knew it was time to come in from the fields to eat.

It will be a long time before someone invents something that will replace that ‘old-time apron’ that served so many purposes.

Have a wonderful weekend.

11Dec2015

Friday Book Whimsy: A Cedar Cove Christmas

Posted in Book Reviews, Whimsies by kzmclain

I always say when it comes to reading, I am a cheap date. Having said that, I will admit that I’ve never been a Debbie Macomber fan, nor a fan of her seemingly endless Cedar Cove series. I even gave the Hallmark-produced Cedar Cove television series a shot, and just couldn’t get engaged. It doesn’t matter, because Macomber has a deeply devoted following and doesn’t need me, thank you very much.

But hey, it’s the Christmas season, and so it’s no holds barred, right? It’s not a time to read a deeply moving dramatic novel or a terrifyingly psychotic thriller. It’s a time for light reading where everyone gets along and all problems are solved by the end of 250 pages.

And light reading definitely describes Cromber’s A Cedar Cove Christmas.

Mary Jo Wyse is unmarried, pregnant, and very close to giving birth. Without telling her three brothers (the three Wyse men; are you getting the picture?), she travels to Cedar Cove, a small community on an island near Seattle from which the baby’s father hails. There, she not only cannot find the baby’s father, but she can’t find any place to sleep for the night. She runs into the town librarian, who agrees to let her stay in the apartment she and her husband built above the barn. It should come as no surprise that Mary Jo gives birth in the barn and the three Wyse men follow a star to find their sister.

Obviously, Macromber is not very subtle when it comes to copying the Christmas nativity story. Still, A Cedar Cove Christmas is full of holiday cheer and paints a lovely picture of a town that has put on its best attire for the holidays. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with a quick, cheery read full of holiday spirit and Christmas joy.

If you’re looking for a meaningful read, you can let this one pass. But if you just want to sit down with a cup of coffee and read a book that will only take a couple of hours of your time, A Cedar Cove Christmas might be a good choice. It will put you in the holiday mood.

Here is a link to the book.

10Dec2015

Thursday Thoughts

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

But Can You Dance?
We returned Tuesday from our trip to Chicago to visit Bill’s mother. Just prior to our arrival, she came down with a chest cold. Chest colds are no fun for anyone, but when you’re 98 years old, they can, of course, be particularly dangerous. Like Bill, Wilma is tough and a non-complainer, but the cold was really hard for her. Mostly she was mad that she couldn’t talk – almost no voice at all for several days. Sunday we turned on television to watch the church service that they hold in their community room, but which they televise for those who are unable to attend. She had watched the Catholic Mass at which Bill and I were in attendance, and was prepared to watch the protestant service after we got back to her apartment. She tried with all of her might to sing along with the hymns to no avail whatsoever. She was very frustrated. Finally, she turned to Bill and croaked, “Go down and tell the nurse that I can’t sing.” I shared her frustration, but I must admit that the statement seemed ripe for a punch line.

The Perfect Food
There were a few things she could get across however, and one of those things was that she was sick and tired of the food she was eating every night. “It’s crap!” she croaked one night. So despite her illness, and since the weather was somewhat mild, we took her out for pizza at her favorite place – Aurlelio’s Pizzaria. And Bill loves his mother so much that he was willing to go there instead of HIS favorite place – Fox’s Pizzaria. There is no greater love than that of a son for his mother! It was a fun night and we were glad that for one night at least she didn’t have to eat “crap.” The server was nice enough to take our picture….

We Say Christmas
Though there are probably a handful of Jewish residents at the senior facility where Wilma lives, the place is definitely decorated for Christmas, all political correctness aside. With the large Polish-, Irish-, and Italian-Catholic population of Chicago, those numbers are probably represented among Smith Crossing’s population. All I know is that when I would take my walks around the facility, nearly every unit was decorated for the Christmas holiday. Here was Wilma’s contribution….

Bag It
The day before we left for Chicago, I got motivated and began to go through the place in my closet where I keep all of my old purses. For reasons I myself can’t even understand, I have a difficult time throwing or giving away old purses. I always think I will use them again. Even when the lining is torn and the bag is dirty. I will fix the lining and clean the bag, I tell myself. The chances of that happening are about the same as the chance that I will ever ride the world’s scariest roller coaster. So I am determined to make a final perusal of the bags to make sure there isn’t a hidden $100 bill, and give them to Goodwill. If you think I’m kidding, take a look at this photo…..

Give Them 20 Years…..
Last night Bill and I attended the holiday performance of the Southmoor Elementary School Choir, of which Dagny is a proud member. Being a McLain and therefore one of the shortest in her class, she was in the front row where she was easy to watch. As far as I was concerned, there didn’t need to be anyone else singing because I never took my eyes off of her. In a mere 20 years I will be watching her on The Voice. As an added bonus, the Southmoor Band played a few short holiday numbers. Key to the trombone section was Alastair McLain, who appeared to play beautifully. Let’s face it….Glenn Miller had to start somewhere. Here is a picture of the stars of the show….

Ciao!

9Dec2015

Hee Haw

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

When I wrote this post, I was 30-some thousand feet in the air, flying from Chicago to Denver. There are only so many blog posts one can write about the horrors of airline travel and one’s personal fear of flying. The fact of the matter is that no matter how terrible this flight was for me, it didn’t even come close to how awful it was for the woman three rows back flying solo with her two kids. One was a little boy of about 3 and the other was an infant girl in the neighborhood of 11 months to a year. The little girl cried ceaselessly for the entire flight. Meanwhile, the mother started out trying to deal patiently with the little boy, who apparently doesn’t know Santa Claus is coming to town. But about halfway through she lost her patience. She transitioned from saying things like, “Jack, I know you love your sister, but you have to give her some personal space,” to saying through clenched teeth, “Jack, stop touching your sister right now or I will take away your hand-held computer and throw it out the window.” Jack, of course, knew no one would be taking away his computer any time soon because it was Mom’s only hope and the windows didn’t open. So he continued to agitate his sister. Poor Mom.

It brought to mind my first plane ride with Court when he was 11 months old. We visited my sister Bec in Alabama. He was very good flying to Birmingham. However, he was simply awful on the way back. He cried nearly the entire way, except for a brief time while dinner was served (this being back in the days of airline food). It was during this brief interlude when he reached down and picked up a fistful of mashed potatoes and threw it at the businessman sitting next to me. Despite his now potato-stained suit jacket, the man rather took it in stride and was surprisingly nice about the mishap. He must have had a number of kids at home.

On our way to Chicago a few days ago, we had a pleasant, uneventful trip. The skies were smooth and we left and arrived on time. The only oddity happened as we waited for the announcement that we could begin boarding. A young man sat down across from us in the waiting area. He nodded nervously to us, and I attributed his discomfort to the fact that his carry-on was an enormous donkey head. Not a real donkey head, ala The Godfather. Instead, it was the kind of donkey head you would put on if you were the mascot for, say, the Joliet Jackasses. I heard him tell the fellow sitting next to him that he was quite nervous it wasn’t going to meet the carry-on restrictions. I must admit, it would be disconcerting to be sitting next to a passenger with a donkey peeking out between his feet.

It must have passed muster, however, because I saw him next in baggage claim in Chicago awaiting his luggage with the donkey head jauntily sitting by his side. Seeing as I had spent the entire flight trying to think of a college whose mascot was a donkey (Boston College Burros? Duke Donkeys? MIT Mules?), I couldn’t resist asking him why he was carrying a donkey head ( and no, I didn’t say “why the long face?”). Turns out he wasn’t a mascot for a school. He was going to work at some convention being held in Chicago. A convention featuring a giant donkey. A Democrat gathering maybe?

Perhaps a fitting conclusion to this blog post is to tell you something I overheard as we were standing in line to board. One woman struck up a conversation with another — an apparent stranger. Pointing out the the early hour (we were boarding at 6 a.m.!), she apologized for her unkempt appearance. The other woman dismissed her concerns, saying, “Oh, I don’t think there’s any point in dressing up any more unless you’re looking for a husband or a job.”

I can think of other reasons, but I wasn’t going to argue at the crack of dawn and with a donkey head staring back at me.

8Dec2015

O Sole Mio

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

While I am away in Chicago visiting Bill’s mother for a couple of days, here is a previously-written blog post about an earlier trip to Chicago. This post was first published in September 2014.

Everyone has heard some version of the song referred to in the title of this blog post. Literally translated, it means “my sunshine.”I wanted to sing this song at the top of my lungs the other day as Bill and I wandered through one of the most amazing and fabulous places I have ever visited – Eataly. It felt like my sunshine.

Before I tell you about my amazing day in a place as close to Italy as possible without getting on an airplane and flying for seven or eight hours in a seat that only reclines a tenth of an inch, I have to tell you a bit about my love affair with Lidia Bastianich.

She is known in our family simply as Lidia, similar to Madonna or Cher or Bono. If I mention Lidia, I don’t have to explain who I mean. She has had a variety of cooking shows on PBS for many years, and has about a million cookbooks, all of which I own. I like her obvious love of food and simple cooking and preparing a meal for your family. My ideals about cooking imitate hers.

While she has restaurants around the United States, she lives in New York City and her first restaurants were there. And a couple of years ago, along with another famous chef – Mario Batali – and her son Joe Bastianich, she founded a food market – and I use that term loosely in this case – called Eataly.

Jen and Bec visited New York City’s Eataly recently during their trip, and I was very envious. I looked on line to get a little more information, and was delighted – simply thrilled in fact – to learn that there is an Eataly in downtown Chicago with an even bigger footprint than the one in NYC.

“Please please please?” I begged Bill. “Can we take one day out of our visit to your mom’s to go to Eataly?”

He agreed without a second thought.

I told you yesterday about our fun day in general terms. But we literally spent the entire afternoon in this amazing, well, I don’t even know quite what to call it. It is an Italian food market, but there are places to eat and an amazing wine store featuring wines from all the regions of Italy.

In fact, one of the most amazing things about this market is that it featured foodstuffs from all over Italy. For example, the olive oils were divided into all of the various Italian regions – Umbia, Tuscany, Sicily, and so forth. There were literally shelves of olive oils…..

The cheese selection nearly took my breath away…

Here is Eataly’s selection of JUST BLEU CHEESES….

Bill and I have been lucky enough in our lives to spend considerable amount of time in Italy, and while I love all things American, I miss a few things that I think are difficult to find in the United States. Or at least in Denver. One of these is a really true espresso macchiato. Most coffee places offer a macchiato that really is nothing more than a latte. An Italian macchiato is simple and divine. Guess what? They offered it at Eataly….

All of the breads are baked in a wood-burning oven….

We wandered around and looked at the selections of produce and cheeses and meats and seafood and canned goods and were swept back to our days in Italy. With such a selection of foods, it took us considerable time to decide what to eat. We elected instead of going to the sit-down café where they bring food to you, we would go to one of the various stations where you could buy meat or cheese or pizza and make your own lunch. So we ordered a selection of salumi e formaggi, which they served on a wooden peel with bread and olive oil. Ah YUM!

7Dec2015

Vacation Treasures

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

While I am away visiting Bill’s mom in Chicago for a few days, here is the first of a couple of posts previously written during another trip to Chicago. This post was first published in September 2014.

This year has been the year for summer road trips. For me, that’s a good thing. I do enjoy a trip down I-80.

We spent the past week in Chicago visiting Bill’s mom. We never mind the drive because, just like we do when we drive to Phoenix, we do it in two days instead of one. Denver to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and then on to Chicago the next day. By driving, we have access to our car and don’t have to deal with a rental car.

But best of all, we get to enjoy the interesting, and almost always funny, things that happen along the way.

Here is some of what we experienced this past week, both on the road and while in Chicago…..

The first day, we noticed an inordinate number of Corvettes. By time we had reached Kearney, Nebraska, we had probably seen something like 70 or 80 Corvettes. We began speculating as to why we saw so many. Clearly it couldn’t be accidental.

We stopped at a rest stop somewhere near York, Nebraska, and pulled up next to three Corvettes. I couldn’t resist, and asked one of the owners why we were seeing so many Corvettes on I-80.

He and his wife were more than happy to explain.

“We are all driving to Bowling Green, Kentucky, where these cars were manufactured,” they told us. “There will be somewhere around 7,000 Corvettes there this weekend to enjoy the festivities the plant is providing.”

They also told us that many of the drivers were going to stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, to spend the night. This information caused Bill McLain to exit at Lincoln in order to find the hotel at which many, many Corvettes would be parked. Though we gave it the ol’ college try, we were unable to find the hotel.

Still, here is a photo of the three cars at the rest stop….

Our daughter and her family joined us in Chicago, and 5-year-old Joseph and 2-year-old Micah spent quality time with their great grandmother….

One of the things Bill’s 97-year-old mom was eager to do during our visit was show me the new Meijer’s store near her house. Meijer’s is a midwestern grocery chain that offers enormous varieties of almost everything. So, if you’re looking for bacon, instead of four or five brands, you will find 20 or 30….

The Meijer’s store we visited was even larger than the one at which we had shopped previously. I seriously am not sure I’ve ever visited a larger grocery store. I would call it a Super Walmart on steroids.

For example, the Hostess display offered many choices….

As you can imagine, Joseph was delighted with the Lego offerings….

The sheer number of EVERYTHING made me laugh.

On our way back home, we stopped at what is literally the world’s largest truck stop — the Iowa 80 Truck Stop. It is seriously enormous. In addition to many fast food restaurants and an inordinate number of things that truckers simply can’t live without — which apparently includes All Things Chrome — there are at least three semi-trucks located INSIDE THE STORE. Now that’s a big truck stop. We stop almost every time.

This time, Bill pulled a Diet Coke from the refrigerated case, and this is what what he found on the bottle as part of their new advertising campaign….

What are the chances of that?

5Dec2015

Are We There Yet?

Posted in Whimsies by kzmclain

I mentioned on a couple of occasions that Heather and Lauren and the boys drove from Vermont to Colorado for Thanksgiving this year. That is 1,937.8 miles for a total of 29 hours. I got that information from Google, and I’m pretty sure Google was not accounting for many potty breaks for a 6-year-old and a 3-year-old nor for frequent stops so that kids’ legs can be stretched, tummies filled, and fights abated.

Going home, the first day they drove from Denver to Chicago — arriving in the Windy City around 3 o’clock in the morning. They had a quick visit the next day with Wilma, and hit the road once again. Before finally arriving home very many hours later, they had to stop at Lauren’s father’s house — about an hour from Montpelier — to pick up their dog, Merlin.

Heather kept us informed about their whereabouts via Facebook. Here is the final photo, and it certainly made me smile….

Imagine that those boys were still smiling after over 30 hours on the road. Merlin looks pretty happy too.

Have a great weekend.

Nana's Whimsies

Musings of a Baby Boomer….

Author Archives: kzmclain

Flip For It

Give it Up

Period

Saturday Smile: History of the Apron

Friday Book Whimsy: A Cedar Cove Christmas

Thursday Thoughts

Hee Haw

O Sole Mio

Vacation Treasures

Are We There Yet?