Thursday Thoughts

I’ve Been Treed!
I settled in for what was going to be a quick babysitting job for Cole earlier this week, and mostly while he napped. Cole’s mommy was going to help out at school and work on some of her Mylee tree eyeroom mother activities. She went a little early so that she could have lunch with Kaiya and Mylee (who don’t share a lunch period). Around 1 o’clock, I got a text message from Alyx saying she had to rush Mylee to the eye doctor because she had gotten something in her eye at recess following lunch. The school nurse thought it might be a bit of metal. Yikes. It turned out to not be metal; instead, it was a bit of bark from a tree. No use even wondering how something like that could happen. Court got home before Alyx and the girls. I asked him if he was surprised that it happened to Mylee. “Oh, not at all,” he assured me. “That kind of stuff happens to Mylee all of the time.” Every family has one. Mylee’s going to be theirs. I’m happy to report that she is fine, despite getting tree in her eye.

Batter Up
After my babysitting gig, I went directly to Addie’s middle school where she was playing softball with the Hamilton Huskies. I was happy to be able to see her play before we leave for Arizona in mid-October. Since Hamilton is part of the Denver Addie softballPublic School system, her team could be playing anywhere in the metro area. The rare home game offered me an opportunity to observe her softball skills. Though her team lost by a couple of points, I’m happy to say that Addie was up at bat twice, hit the ball twice, and scored two runs. The final run involved running home when the catcher missed the ball. All of the Hamilton fans (which admittedly consisted mostly of Addie’s family) were screaming, “Slide! Slide! Slide!” She, of course, didn’t, but was called safe at home plate. Before she could walk back to her team, the umpire took her aside and told her, “You really needed to slide.” As Adelaide walked back to the bench with a big grin on her face, I overheard her tell her teammate, “I probably should learn to slide.

Approximate Time
The four McLain grandkids were over the other evening as their mother and father watched the CU/CSU football game with friends. I sat for a while and talked with 10-year-old Alastair, who, as you know by now, is a character. Since it was clear they were going to be going to bed later than usual – particularly after the game went into overtime – I asked Alastair if he still gets up so early in the morning. (He used to arise sometime around 5:30.) Here’s his answer, and I quote: “Well, I guess I get up around 6:08. But sometimes I sleep until sometime around 7:42.” There you have it.

Apron Strings
The reaction from my blog post the other day about my grandmother and her aprons generated a lot of response. Not only did I have one of my best days for total “hits” on my blog, I had a number of comments – both on my blog and on Facebook — from people who knew Grammie. She was clearly loved and respected by many people. I heard from a number of my cousins who were so happy to see Grammie’s smiling face on the post. I hope I have as much impact on my grandkids as did my grandmother on her grandkids. And my plea for a pattern got me some suggestions. Bill insists he is going to sew me an apron!

Mason Jars
mason jar drinking cup
Recently I have noticed many stores are carrying something that I bought a while back at Target – plastic caps and straws that fit into the band of a mason jar so that you can drink from it. The other morning, I made Bill and I smoothies for breakfast, and I served them up in the mason jar. Bill, who never EVER notices what I use as serving dishes (and I can’t really blame him for that) was extremely impressed with how his beverage was served. So impressed, in fact that he commented on it. So Tuesday at the grocery store, I bought a package to take with us to Arizona since I don’t know if they are yet available in the desert. The young man checking me out looked at the package and said, “Oh my gosh, these are so cute.” Wow. What will they think of next?

Ciao!

 

How Does Food Network Say to Do It?

imgresI have watched Food Network almost from the very beginning (which Wikipedia tells me was 1993). I watched Tyler Florence when he was on a program called How to Boil Water. He was something like 15 years old. I still prepare a chicken enchilada recipe I learned from him on the show.

I watched Emeril Lagasse entertain crowds via his over-the-top personality and garlic-laden cooking. I don’t believe I have ever cooked a single one of his recipes as they are way too complicated. Still, he was a founding food star on Food Network and fun to watch.

I watched the early Bobby Flay programs back when he had only married and divorced a couple of women and Giada De Laurentiis wasn’t even a gleam in his eye. I don’t believe I have ever even looked at one of his recipes because frankly, he annoys me and always has. How could he cheat on his beautiful and talented wife Stephanie March? You know how friends choose who they are going to stick with following a divorce? I choose Stephanie! I loved her on Law and Order. Still, I watched his shows. How could I not? They were ubiquitous.

I was a fan of Paula Deen up until, during, and after her remarks about her use of the “N” word. Her honesty was refreshing and it isn’t like she didn’t learn from her mistakes. But man-oh-man did she need a better PR strategy. As for her recipes, yes indeed I have used many. I make her cinnamon ice cream very often. It’s my go-to recipe for ice cream. If I make vanilla ice cream, I simply leave out the cinnamon and add vanilla. Boom.

You can still find reruns of Alton Brown’s Good Eats on the Cooking Channel – Food Network’s annoying little brother. Good Eats used to be on at 10 o’clock at night Monday through Friday. While it’s unimaginable to me now to think about not being in bed reading by 9:30, I recall watching the show as I waited up for Court to get home from wherever he wasn’t supposed to be. Alton Brown is seriously funny and his show was irresistible. Nevertheless, I found he made things so difficult. I remember that in his show about baking cakes, he advised that the cakemaker should weigh the two cake pans to ensure you are putting exactly the same amount in each. My apologies to all of you first-borns who actually do this, but – SERIOUSLY?

At first I took everything the chefs and cooks said as religion. For example, they said (and continue to say) you simply can’t be a good cook without a gas stove. For many years I lamented the fact that I cooked on an electric glasstop stove. A couple of years ago it hit me that, despite my use of an electric stove, I was a perfectly fine cook as was my mother, who mostly cooked on an electric stove, though I have a distant memory of a gas stove and her having to use a match to light it. It is this memory, in fact, that prevents me from reconfiguring my kitchen to allow cooking with gas, as I am terrified of blowing myself up. That, and I don’t have $30,000 for a kitchen remodel.

My favorite chef, as well as my favorite cooking show of course is Lidia Bastianich. She is not on Food Network, but instead appears on PBS. Next to my mother, Lidia is the person from whom I have learned the most about cooking. I own all of her cookbooks, and all are well-worn. I find I talk to myself while cooking as though I am talking with Lidia. I have had the good luck to eat at one of her restaurants on several occasions  — Becco in NYC. Each time I have fervently wished that she would appear out of the kitchen so that I could run up to her, throw my arms around her, and thank her for teaching me to cook.

I am pleased to tell you she never did.

I will also tell you that many of my grandkids also watch Food Network. The other night I watched Cake Wars with the McLains (aka, The Cousins) at their bequest, and Kaiya and Mylee often watch Chopped with their Dad. It brings tears to my eyes.

While I now take what the chefs tell me with a grain of salt (remembering, for example, that I am not rich enough to own a house in the Hamptons, nor do I have a sous chef to prepare my ingredients), I have learned a lot from watching the chefs on Food Network.

Next week I will tell you what I’ve learned.

And for kicks……

Homemade Cinnamon Ice Cream, Adapted from Paula Deen and Food Network
Yield: 2-3 quarts

Ingredients
2 c. half-and-half
2 cinnamon sticks
½ pint heavy whipping cream
14-oz can sweetened condensed milk, chilled
1 qt. whole milk

Process
In a saucepan, combine half-and-half and cinnamon sticks. Cook for 20 minutes over low heat (do not boil) Remove cinnamon sticks and chill milk for 4 hours.

With an electric mixer, beat whipping cream on high speed until soft peaks form. Add the chilled sweetened condensed milk and continue to beat until stiff peaks form.

Add chilled half-and-half. Pour mixture into the canister of ice cream freezer. Freeze according to the ice cream maker manufacturer’s directions. Place ice cream in another container and freeze for several hours.

Apron Strings

I’ll bet if I had opened my grandmother’s closet, I would have seen maybe three or four dresses on hangers, a couple of pairs of shoes – one for church and one for every day, a pair of bedroom slippers, a nightgown, and a housecoat.

Moving to her dresser, in the top drawer I would find handerchiefs with crocheted edging that were stiffly starched and ironed covering up her stash of Swiss chocolate candy bars. The next drawer down might have held her underwear and her thick nylon stockings. And maybe more Swiss chocolate. The other drawers undoubtedly belonged to my grandfather.

I’m telling you this much:  the woman didn’t own a pair of slacks. Her wardrobe didn’t include a blouse or a skirt or a shirt of any kind. She wore simple house dresses every single day of her adult life.

Unless she was dressed up. And she always wore the same thing when she was dressed up – a navy blue shirtwaist with white polka dots. If she was going to church or to one of our piano recitals, she added a hat. Boom. Navy dress; polka dots; hat: Grammie was ready for church.

But the best way to tell if Grammie was dressed up was if she had on her apron. If she did not, she was heading out to church or to visit a friend. Because if she was at home, she was wearing an apron.  And her aprons were all the same — a bib apron that went over her head and tied or buttoned in the back and made out of cotton material with a floral print. Mom had a seamstress friend who made them for her to give to Grammie for Christmas or her birthday or Mother’s Day. They looked something like this, only with a floral print…..

sewing-pattern-backless-reversible-tunic-for-woman-

I have been thinking about Grammie and her aprons a lot lately as I’ve spent more time baking or with my grandkids. Or both.  I am always dirty. I have noticed that as I go through my day, I am constantly wiping my hands on my pants without giving it a second thought. That is until I get undressed at night to get ready for bed and see that my pants are covered with mud or floury handprints or play doh because, see above. I’ve been wiping my hands on my pants. My shirts are wet with watermelon dribble or Oreo crumbs or maybe spaghetti sauce from my dinner. Cole is in a constant state of drool as he apparently is always working on teeth. Drool = Messy Shirt.

I need an apron. I know now why Grammie always had on an apron.

Grammie in apron (2)

So I have begun looking for aprons to buy or make. And when I say make, I mean pay someone to make it. I can’t sew a stitch. It actually is easier said than done. I can find numerous half aprons or the bib aprons that tie in the back and have straps that go around your neck. But I want an apron like my grandmother wore – almost like a shirt you wore backwards. It had sleeves through which you put your arms and it either tied or buttoned in the back. I have been wholly unsuccessful searching for a pattern for such an apron. It’s true. I am becoming my grandmother. But that’s okay because now I know why the apron was always a part of her attire.

So if anyone has any thoughts on acquiring such a pattern, let me know. Even Pinterest has let me down.

In the meantime, I will continue wiping my hands on my pants.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

 

Jumping for Joy

When you’re the third-born of four kids, birthdays are kind of a conundrum. A conundrum at least for the person trying to figure out what to buy you when, between all of the children, there is nothing your family doesn’t own. Of course, as third-born, you mustn’t mind hand-me-downs (or ups). My sister Jen, herself a third-born of four kids, still talks about the trials and tribulations of being stuck in the lower middle half of the family. You would think she’d be over it now that she’s 696 months old.

So, I put on my thinking cap back in early August when my third-born granddaughter Dagny celebrated her 9th birthday. I asked her mom for suggestions. A new bike helmet or a lunchbox for school, said she. Doesn’t that sound like the practical mom’s perfect birthday suggestions?

I did go ahead and buy her a new helmet, because, well, she moved to a new bike helmet age group, and at least a helmet is used when doing something fun. I just couldn’t do a lunchbox. Too boring. I kept imagining Dagny’s face when she opened up the present only to see a lunch box and thermos, reminding her that summer was almost over and school would soon begin. Just what I wanted, Nana, she would say with a fake smile. Someplace to put my half-of-a-turkey sandwich and my fruit chews in the morning and someplace to bring my half-of-a-turkey sandwich with one bite out of it home again in the afternoon.

But I remembered last winter when I asked Dagny (as I ask all of my grandkids) what she wanted for Christmas. Top of her list was to do something with me that didn’t include the other kids. Now that’s a third-born for you. I didn’t make that happen at Christmas because Bill and I leave Christmas Day for our winter in Arizona. But when I began thinking about her birthday, well, voila! So in addition to the bike helmet, I added a note saying I would take she and a friend to lunch anywhere she wanted, and then on to Jumpstreet. For those of you not familiar with Jumpstreet, it is an indoor trampoline park and all-around fun place for kids. You’re never too old to have fun at Jumpstreet is their slogan. That is, of course, not strictly true, which is why I offered to have Dagny invite a friend. The last time I jumped on a trampoline, I was seven years old and ended up in the hospital with a hernia. That, my friends, is a true story. So for my part, I enjoyed reading for two hours while they jumped to their hearts’ content. No hernia.

Dagny Brynn Jump Street

Dagny (right) and Brynn after two hours of nonstop jumping. Don’t they look pooped?

For a month now, Dagny has been considering where she wanted me to take her for lunch. I told her the only restriction was distance. Money wasn’t a particular consideration. McCormick & Schmick’s? Nope, she doesn’t like seafood or fish. Benihana’s? No again because while she likes to watch them cook her food, she doesn’t particularly like the offerings. So where did we end up?

Smashburger. Worked for me. I enjoyed my jalapeno Smashburger immensely. Dagny and her friend Brynn enjoyed their lunches as well, including enormous Oreo milkshakes. As an aside, they drank maybe a third of their shakes and then took them with them in a to-go cup to enjoy after Jumpstreet. Unfortunately, the inside of the yellow bug got hot enough to roast a pig, and their milkshakes didn’t quite survive.

Dagny Brynn Smashburger

Dagny and her friend Brynn enjoy their Oreo milkshakes.

I had a wonderful afternoon with the two fourth graders. I enjoyed hearing them talk about this, that, and the other. We had a fun discussion at lunch about their friendship, their siblings, their favorite subjects in school, and how their mommies and daddies met. Now that’s a subject for another blog post.

Saturday Smile: It Never Gets Old

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Apologies to my readers who are not Broncos fans. If you, however, are a football fan, you have to admit that the game on Thursday between the Denver Broncos and the Kansas City Chiefs was a good one. I PROMISE I would have said this even if we had lost. I might not have said it if we had lost big. But to tie up the game with less than 40 seconds left makes for exciting football. And then, the icing on the cake for Broncos fans is that on the Chief’s first play after the Broncos tied it up, rather than taking a knee, they ran the ball. A fumble resulted in a touchdown for the Broncos. It was quite exciting. Bill and I were screaming just a little bit.

But here’s what made me smile…..

Peyton Manning is 39 years old and has played I don’t know how many games, but a lot. So he has been interviewed very many times after a game, and many of those interviews were after a win. As many times as I have seen him interviewed, I have never seen him quite as tickled as he was in this interview. Even game analyst Phil Simms, who practically chokes when he has to say something good about the Broncos, pointed out that he has never seen Peyton look this happy in an interview….

http://www.nfl.com/videos/nfl-game-highlights/0ap3000000533110/Manning-happy-about-win

Have a good weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Homesman

The HomesmanThe only thing I like more than reading a novel that takes place in the Old West is when that novel takes place in Nebraska. While no novel will compare with Willa Cather’s amazing My Antonia, I always enjoy reading about what my home state was like in the 1800s.

I so often have no recollection of how I come across certain books, and The Homesman, by Glendon Swarthout is no exception. I’m on lots of book email sites and there’s always good ol’ Amazon and/or Goodreads to make suggestions. Often the suggestions are eerily on target. This recommendation certainly was.

The driving character in The Homesman is Mary Bee Cuddy and she is a fictional character I won’t soon forget. Cuddy is a strong woman, unmarried, who single-handedly runs one of the most successful homesteads in the never-named small Nebraska community of Swarthout’s imagination.

An unbearable winter in this part of the pioneer west has left three hard-working women literally out of their minds. Their husbands are unable and unwilling to care for them. The area’s kind minister knows that the only thing to do is to get them back to the family they left back east to come to the untamed Nebraska territory with their husbands to find prosperity. He has a connection in Iowa who will make sure these women are reconnected with family. Unfortunately, he is unable to convince any of the husbands to accompany these women east to Iowa.

Mary Bee Cuddy offers to be the one to make sure these women are safely returned to their families. Despite the minister’s concern, he realizes no one else is stepping up and something must be done.

Circumstances bring Cuddy together with a scoundrel calling himself George Briggs. Cuddy saves his life in exchange for his promise to help her in her difficult journey.

Their journey is the crux of the story.

Swarthout’s two main characters are complex and remarkable. The story is heart-warming in parts and terribly, terribly sad in other parts. Cuddy and Briggs grudgingly become admirers of one another. And always, always in the background of the story are the three insane women. It’s a fascinating storyline.

The ending isn’t necessarily what I would have chosen, but on the other hand, the ending is what makes the novel believable and compellingly readable.

The book has been made into a movie starring Tommy Lee Jones and Hilary Swank, which I promptly watched on Netflix. While the movie follows the book fairly reliably, Swarthout’s descriptions of the unimaginable winter and unthinkable circumstances which led to the women’s insanity was much more detailed and therefore more understandable.

I enjoyed The Homesman very much.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

Mylee is tearing up the cheese for the soup.

Mylee is helping me make soup.

Chopped
I cook with my grandkids. In fact, it’s one of my favorite things to do. Whether or not this activity has had an effect on any of them remains unseen. What I do know, however, is that many of them like to cook. I have talked about Alastair’s love for food and cooking in my blog before. You might be aware that for a while, Addie contributed to my blog through a kids’ cooking segment. (She is now a very busy 7th grader, so she hasn’t much time to fiddle around with my blog.) Kaiya and Mylee both love to help me cook when they visit, and it’s an activity we often enjoy together. Yesterday I watched Mylee make her presentation as Afternoon Kindergarten Student of the Week at her school, Willow Creek Elementary. One of the questions the teacher asked her was What do you want to be when you grow up. I was absolutely certain I knew her answer, as she has always told me she wanted to be a doctor.  Anyhoo, her answer to the teacher’s question? “A chef,” said Miss Mylee. Who knew? One thing I will tell you is that when I was 5 years old, I would never have heard of a chef. The days of Food Network.

Mom and Court

This is one of my favorite photos of my mom, helping Court do heaven-knows-what at their home in Dillon.

Happy Birthday, Mom
Yesterday my mom would have turned 89. She died when she was 68 years old following a long illness. Having myelofibrosis certainly didn’t stop her from enjoying her life, however, at least not until the very end. She was so, so young when she passed away. I miss her every day. I miss her especially when I watch my grandkids and think about how much she would have enjoyed her great grandchildren. She was unable to meet a single one of her great grands. She loved all of her grandchildren, but I think we all agree that she was partial to her girlies. I wish she could have met Kaiya and Mylee. I don’t know if you celebrate birthdays in heaven, but just in case: Happy birthday Mom!

Who Was Lady and Who Was Tramp?
The other day when Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole were spending the day with us, I brought out my apple peeler. It’s Fall, after all. The inevitable Apple Crisp. I don’t know why I think Apple Crisp can only be made in the Fall, but I never, ever make it at any other time of the year. And I never fail to make at least one in the Fall. Anyhoo, my old-fashioned apple peeler peels the apple in one very long strip. It is simply too tempting to ignore. So this happened…..

Kaiya Mylee eating apple peel

I told the girls they looked like the dogs in Lady and the Tramp during the romantic kiss scene in which the two dogs eat the same strand of spaghetti leading to the kiss, which made Kaiya giggle as only Kaiya can giggle. “Nana, what kind of dogs are Lady and the Tramp?” she asked. Now that is Lady and the Trampkind of a good question. I’m pretty sure Lady is a Cocker Spaniel and I’m pretty sure Tramp is a mutt. I haven’t seen the movie for 50 years, but I think that was the controversy. No?

Strapless
Yesterday morning I was in the locker room at 24 Hour Fitness. I noticed a woman getting dressed for, I don’t know, work? A social function? A wedding? It doesn’t matter. What struck me is that she was wearing a really pretty red dress with a square back that was cut a little low, but not inappropriately so. What I particularly noticed, however, is that she was wearing a red bra. I know this because the straps were entirely visible. I have noticed this many times before. Women nowadays use their bra as part of their, well, I don’t know, accessories? I wasn’t a bit horrified. I just remembered how when I was young, we went to all sorts of lengths to make sure our bra straps were hidden. We wore strapless bras, bras that crisscrossed in the back, halter bras, anything so that the dress hid the bra straps. Most were highly uncomfortable. If only……

Ciao!

696 Months

How old is Little Junior, we ask the mother of a babe-in-arms. When a baby is small, their age is counted in weeks. She’s 2 weeks old, or he’s 6 weeks old, the proud mother replies. At some point it becomes months. Six months old or 9 months old or 13 months old. I think that ends at 2 years old, when the child’s age finally becomes measured in years.

It’s really a good thing, because it’s not nearly as adorable to tell you that we celebrated my sister Jen’s birthday on Monday, and she turned 696 months old. Nothing precious about that. But the birthday celebration was lots of fun, no matter how many months old she was.

I think Jen and I have celebrated each other’s birthdays together most of the years since she was born 696 months ago because we have lived close together most of our lives. It’s fun now because Bill and I are in Arizona in late December for my brother’s birthday  and in January for my sister Bec’s birthday, so now I’m able to celebrate with my whole family.

Hey, don’t laugh. Birthdays are big deals. I must admit, however, that unlike my grandkids – who will tell you that they are 7 and A HALF or 5 and A HALF, I am perfectly content to omit the half and keep my lower age for as long as I possibly can. You will never hear me tell a single solitary soul that I am 61-and-a-half.

And can I tell you that as much as I enjoy birthdays and birthday celebrations, is there anything more depressing than the day after your birthday? I mean, no gifts, the cake (should there be any left) is day-old and dried out, you find confetti lodged under your kitchen countertops, and you’re a year older. Sigh.

Having said all of that, let me tell you about our celebration.

Bill and I went to Fort Collins and cooked for Jen and her son B.J. at her house. As unlikely as it seems, I actually offered appetizers (something I’m notorious in my family for not remembering to do), and we toasted her birthday with champagne….

Jen birthday girl

….and no, not all three glasses were hers!

I had given her a selection of potential meals from which to choose. Explaining that she was currently on a French food kick (you know, French fries, French dressing, French toast), she chose Chicken au Champagne. I served it with haricot verts and a salad with a lovely sweet and tangy vinaigrette.  Ooo la la.

As for her birthday cake, she chose an angel food cake served with whipped cream and toffee chips. Despite Bill’s shock and horror that someone would choose something other than chocolate cake when given the option, he managed to choke down two pieces. Surprise, surprise…..

angel food cake

Chicken au Champagne (adapted from cookingwithcurls.com)

Ingredients
1 T. olive oil
4 – 6 chicken breasts or thighs (skin on, bone-in)
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 large shallot, minced
1 c. Brut Champagne
2 T. butter
1 c. sliced mushrooms
2 T. chopped fresh tarragon
1 lemon

Process
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

Heat olive oil in a large oven-proof skillet. Season chicken pieces with salt and pepper to taste. Add chicken to skillet, skin side down, and sear until golden brown, about 3 or4 minutes. Turn over and finish searing until other side is browned.

Remove chicken to a plate.

Add minced shallots to the pan and cook until they are softened, about 1 minute. Remove pan from heat and add the champagne. Scrape the bottom of the pan to loosen all of the cooked bits. Place the chicken back into the pan, baste with the champagne sauce and place in the oven. Bake uncovered for 35 to 40 minutes, or until thoroughly cooked.

Meanwhile, heat butter in a large skillet. Add the mushrooms and cook for 5 minutes or until they are softened.

Remove chicken from the oven and add the sautéed mushrooms. Stir in the tarragon. Drizzle with the juice of a lemon.

Serve with noodles or mashed potatoes.

chicken au champagne

Nana’s Notes: I used a mixture of shitake and oyster mushrooms because that’s what I had in my refrigerator. I’m not fancy, but I had planned on making a meal last week that involved a mixture of wild mushrooms that never got prepared. Any kind of mushrooms will work. I suggest you don’t substitute white wine for the champagne as the flavor will not be the same and a mean Frenchman will come and slap you silly. However, don’t tell that Frenchman, but I didn’t use a French champagne; instead I used a sparkling wine. C’est la vie.

And, by the way, I will be turning 744 months on my next birthday, not even close to the 876 months Bill will be turning in a few weeks. 

Dog’s Life

Does this patio welcome dogs? – Person visiting Estes Park who presumed that everyone loves her dog as much as she does

I love dogs. I really do. In fact, for much of my life, I was a dog owner. Well, if an elementary-school-aged child can claim ownership of a dog. I imagine my parents, who paid for the dog, dog food and veterinarian visits would perhaps claim actual ownership. But you get my point. This is not an anti-dog blog post.

I just am amazed, however, at the number of dogs I see in stores and on restaurant patios. Perhaps my amazement is because the dog I owned most recently — who went to doggy heaven somewhere in the early 2000s – would have hated – HATED – going out and about with me, unless it was for a walk. Any time we got near the car, he presumed a trip to the vet was imminent. A doggy park? Fuggetaboutit. He simply didn’t like being around other dogs. They scared him. Perhaps that’s because he never realized that he was, in fact, a dog.

When I was probably somewhere in the neighborhood of 7 or 8 years old, my parents succumbed to their children’s pleas to get a dog. We ended up with an unlikely selection – a Toy Manchester terrier we named Geno (or maybe it was Jeano since it was female) who had so much energy that if she had run alongside someone in a marathon race, she would still want more exercise. Let me just tell you that none of us ran marathons. In fact, after the first few weeks, we lost most of our interest in the alarmingly annoying dog. She was killed by a car when she was still a puppy. I promise it wasn’t murder.

Not long after that we managed to convince our parents that we had seen the error of our ways and now we would be responsible dog owners. We got our second dog, a mutt we named MacArthur Douglas and called Mac. Mac was part of a litter that purported to be part poodle and part Scottish terrier. Mac might have been part poodle, but the closest he got to being a Scottish terrier was that his breeders may have been Scotch drinkers.  Here is a photo of Mac, albeit not a good one. In real life, he actually had eyes……

Mac

You can see that Mac would not have won any beauty contests, at least not as he got older. He was overweight and required regular grooming. But he was a good dog that lived to be a hearty old age and gave my parents company as their kids left home.

When Court and I bought our little house following my divorce, we did the first thing most homeowners do – we bought a dog. I had done a great deal of research and decided a miniature Schnauzer was our dog of choice. And it was a good decision. Fritz provided company, comfort, and many, many laughs. He was the dog who would have thought I was taking him to a dog park as punishment. He simply wanted to be at home with Court, and I was a palatable second choice…..

Fritz and Court 2

Fritz and Court

About the same time that we bought Fritz, Bill also bought a dog that he named Bear. We were not yet married, but the dogs spent time together both before and after we wed. Bear was the only other dog that Fritz could tolerate. Bear was a Rottweiler and German shepherd mix, and despite her size, she was the sweetest dog you could imagine. When we bought the dogs, they were roughly the same size……

Bill's dog Bear and Court and my dog Fritz, when they were puppies, circa 1991. They died of old age. We didn't eat them.

That changed, however, as Bear grew to be enormous and terribly sinister-looking. She wasn’t mean, but other people didn’t know that.

Both Bear and Fritz had to be sent to doggy heaven around the same time. Bill and I sort of thought we would eventually get another dog, but it has been a very long time and not likely to happen any time soon. We travel too much, and more importantly, the majority of our grandkids are allergic to dogs and cats.

Which brings me back to my original point. When did people start treating their dogs as if they were human beings? Again, I love dogs, but I don’t quite understand the logic around bringing them with you to breakfast. Perhaps this is just me aging into a crabby person. But here’s how far we’ve come….

Jen came to spend the night with us a few weeks ago, and she brought her dog Tucker along. Before arriving, they went through the drive-thru at our neighborhood Starbucks so that Jen could order her Pumpkin Spice Latte. The person at the window noticed Tucker and asked Jen, “Would you like a Puppicino for your dog?” I’m serious. I can’t make this stuff up. A Puppicino.

To be fair, Jen said yes, and Tucker enjoyed his Puppicino immensely. Next time, however, Tucker requested a skinny half-caf with a one pump and a splash of cream.

It Works For Me

Dave McLain demonstrates his Christian commitment by volunteering with Habitat for Humanity.

Dave McLain demonstrates his Christian commitment by volunteering with Habitat for Humanity.

Yesterday’s New Testament Mass reading was from the letter of St. James in which he talks about the importance of works. Faith alone versus works is one of the most controversial bumps in the road between Catholic Christians and non-Catholic Christians. Far be it from me to place myself in the midst of this fray. I have no insider information. Pope Francis doesn’t have me on his speed dial.  He’s not coming to my house for burgers and brats while he’s here in the United States.

Having said all of the above, I will tell you that I love the letter from St. James. I think he sent it to me. And I will also tell you that I have never quite understood why the conflict between the faith-aloners and faith-and-workers even exists. I think the two go hand in hand.

For every time a Catholic Christian points to James’ letter to prove the need for good works, a non-Catholic Christian can point to an equally compelling letter from St. Paul saying faith alone will save you. Both can’t be wrong. And I personally don’t think either is wrong.

Again, no insider information….but I believe that if you have faith, works come naturally. They go hand in hand.

I might be wrong (since I can’t be in the mind of each and every Catholic), but I doubt there are many who think that if a person believes in Jesus and believes that he died for our sins, but never leaves his or her apartment and therefore does no good works, they will not be saved.

But as Christians, we follow the teachings of Jesus. And no one can possibly doubt that Jesus taught that we have to truly demonstrate our faith. He told us we have to love one another. We have to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and visit the sick or those in prison. It’s what we do as Christians.

I know many people who live out their faith in this way, giving money to the poor, helping out in soup kitchens, building Habitat for Humanity homes, volunteering at their churches or schools. And I also know people who believe themselves to be models of Christ and yet gossip behind people’s backs, look the other way when people are in need, and make judgments about people without knowing or understanding their circumstances. Heck. I’m sometimes one of them. I don’t know who will be saved. It’s not my job to save anyone. But I do believe people wanting to model Christ are more inclined to do good works as part of their faith journey.

St. James said it a lot better than I: I will demonstrate my faith to you from my works.