Holidome

HolidomeWhenever we drive between Denver and Mesa, we always make it a two-day trip, staying overnight in Albuquerque. That way we only have to drive around seven hours each day, making the trip bearable. That’s one of the advantages of being retired.

For the past couple of years, we have always stayed at an Albuquerque hotel called Clubhouse Inn and Suites. It’s affordable and rather nice. They have a happy hour each night, so we can enjoy a beer or a gin-and-tonic after driving for seven hours.

The Clubhouse also has a rather nice pool in a lovely ourdoor courtyard. Interestingly, in all the previous times we’ve made the trip, we’ve never been able to sit by the pool. It’s either been too cold or it’s been raining. No big deal, really, because we are just there for a quick overnight stay.

This past time that we were traveling back to Denver, however, it was a nice warm evening and the pool was open. So Bill and I took our Kris at Clubhouse Inn 2015adult beverages outside and sat by the pool. There were a couple of groups of people out there with us. One was a group of adults who were clearly traveling together and having a wonderful time. The other was a family with several kids, all of whom were joyfully splashing in the swimming pool on that particularly nice evening.

Flashback alert!

Do you remember Holidomes? They were very popular in the 1970s. Holidomes were large Holiday Inns featuring an indoor pool area. The pool was surrounded by numerous chairs and tables. Often there were games to play, mostly things such as ping pong, pinball, or shuffleboard. Perhaps one of the early rudimentary video games. But the focus was on the swimming pool.

As I sat out by the pool that evening, I began to recall all of the times we had spent at a Holidome. More specifically, two specific Holidomes – one in North Platte and one on West Colfax in Denver.

After moving to Colorado, my family would occasionally arrange to meet my Uncle Dale and Aunt Venie and their two kids at the Holidome in North Platte, Nebraska. We would drive from Colorado and they would drive from Columbus, Nebraska, where they lived. None of us at that point were kids. Jen and Dave were both in high school and junior high. Still, we had a lot of fun. Lots of laughter and, of course, food. Jen recalls that one time Mom brought along a corned beef in her crock pot as it was St. Patrick’s Day. As Jen says, our mom was a gamer.

My favorite memories, however, are when our kids were small and the Colorado family would meet at the Holidome on West Colfax in Denver. Jen and her family would come from Fort Collins. Court’s dad and I would bring Court from our home in southeast Denver. Mom and Dad would come from Dillon. The kids would play games and swim, swim, swim. The grownups would eat cheese and crackers, Mom’s homemade pate, and maybe order a couple of pizzas to be delivered to the pool area of the hotel. I am being perfectly honest when I tell you that I can still close my eyes and remember the smell of the hotel as we sat by the pool. Chlorine and pizza sauce.  And I can also hear the sounds of our kids splashing in the pool. So much laughter. Such fun.

Holidomes, at least as far as I know, are no longer in existence. I’m sure Holiday Inn has a solid financial reason for closing them down. People in this day and age are looking for something different I expect. But the memories of our times at Holiday Inn sure did come racing back to me that day sitting by the pool in Albuquerque.

And let me tell you, those kids were having some kind of fun. Maybe Holiday Inn should reconsider.

Second Easter

The Holy Spirit, as depicted by Brother Mickey Mcgrath, a Roman Catholic brother and accomplished artist. Many of his works feature the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit, as depicted by Brother Mickey Mcgrath

Back in 2008 (I simply cannot believe it was seven years ago), Bill and I took the trip of a lifetime. We spent three-and-a-half months traveling around much of western Europe, including spending one full month living in an old rectory in Tuscany. Simply lovely.

We took a cruise ship from Galveston, Texas, to Barcelona, where we set off late in April on our adventure. We spent three or four days in Barcelona. Because it was our first stop, we were still quite inexperienced travelers. I can’t tell you exactly why, but we really never got the hang of Spain, though we certainly love Barcelona, especially La Sagrada Familia, the magnificent church designed by Gaudi that has been under construction since 1882. Not speaking any Spanish was definitely a hindrance, but we couldn’t speak French or German, and only enough Italian to get by, and that didn’t seem to cause us problems. In looking back, I think it was just the initial intimidation of being in a foreign country.

Anyway, every Sunday throughout our adventure we would attend Mass at the big cathedral of whatever country we happened to be visiting. We, of course, couldn’t understand a word, but since one of the many benefits of being Catholic is that the Mass itself is the same because it’s a universal church. So we were always able to follow along even if we couldn’t respond to the proclamations. In Barcelona, we attended the Barcelona Cathedral. The only thing I remember is that it was Pentecost Sunday and after Mass there were all sorts of activities going on in the square in front of the church, including traditional dancing and a puppet show.

We stayed in a truly dreadful apartment in the gothic section of Barcelona. The walls were thin and the floor was literally sinking. I prayed that it wouldn’t completely collapse before our visit was over. It was, I’m happy to tell you, the only really bad accommodation we had during our entire trip. Anyway, seeings as the walls were so thin, we could hear everything that went on above and below us. That Sunday night, I was awake all night long listening to partying going on outside our window. That was bad enough, but I also had the misfortune of hearing what I’m quite certain was an abusive man fighting with his wife/partner. It was very disturbing. I kept thinking, “Don’t these people have to get up and go to work tomorrow?”

The next day – Monday – Bill and I were up and out of the apartment early to begin our walking tour of the city. We noticed it was very quiet, but attributed that to it being so early. We couldn’t find a single place to eat breakfast. Nothing was open. We finally went back to our apartment, thinking we would go out later when things were lively.

Early afternoon, we set out again. But still, nothing was open. We, being so very clueless, decided that things were closed because it was siesta time, and were certain businesses would open soon. But after seeing no activity after a few hours, we finally decided we were missing something. So we stopped at a tourist booth on Las Ramblas and asked (using much sign language as the booth attendant didn’t speak much English) why nothing was open. We finally realized that it was some sort of national holiday. Again, using sign language and my language book, I asked what holiday they were celebrating. The woman asked her coworker how you would say the name of the holiday in English. The answer: Second Easter.

Second Easter?

After thanking her, we set off, and suddenly the answer occurred to me. I quickly took my Rick Steves guidebook out of my daypack and looked it up. Sure enough, Pentecost is a national holiday – celebrated on Monday – in Spain.

This is a long story before I finally can get to my point. I love the feast of Pentecost. In the Catholic Church, the tradition is to wear red, something I NEVER remember to do. The priests and deacons wear beautiful red vestments and the altar servers wear red belts with their white robes.

But beyond the pretty colors, I love the idea of celebrating the existence of the Holy Spirit who I believe guides us in our faith. He certainly guided Peter and the other apostles, who received strength from the divine spirit on the feast of Pentecost, shortly after Jesus ascended into heaven. It’s true, the Holy Spirit is an enigma, hard to understand in a way that God and his son Jesus are not. But it is through the Holy Spirit that we truly experience our faith.

The feast of Pentecost is important enough to warrant a holiday, at least in Spain!

Nana’s Notes: The artwork in the picture above is by Brother Mickey Mcgrath, a Roman Catholic brother and an accomplished artist. Many of his works feature the Holy Spirit in some form or another. His website is http://bromickeymcgrath.com/

In Memory…..

Ft. Logan flagsAs we do every year when we’re in town for Memorial Day, Bill and I drove out to Fort Logan National Cemetery on Saturday to leave flowers at the gravestone of my mom and dad. I always try to go on Saturday or Sunday as opposed to Memorial Day Monday, because there is some sort of ceremony on Monday that draws throngs. I’m sure the ceremony is lovely, but I simply don’t feel the need to attend.

Apparently, in the past, if we’ve gone on Saturday, it’s been later in the day. This past Saturday we went quite early in the morning – not even yet 9 o’clock – because I had a packed schedule both Saturday and Sunday. We were surprised to find that there was a multitude of cars lining the narrow road that runs through the cemetery. Lo, and behold, the Boy Scouts were out putting the flags by the gravestones. And they apparently all brought their friends and relatives, because the area was packed. It’s ok, however, because when each gravestone is marked by an American flag, it’s quite lovely and a wonderful tribute to each of those men and women (and their spouses) who served our country in the Armed Forces. It’s actually breathtaking.

We were lucky, because the rain that had fallen all night long was finished, and the sun actually came out for a bit. My parents are buriedDad grave in a national cemetery, so one must be on the ball in order to find the grave as they all look alike. I have a system. I drive until I see a certain stand of evergreen trees. I then search for the grave of a Mr. Henry C. Fisher, a man I never knew but whose grave is at the end of the row in which Mom and Dad’s grave is located. Please God, I hope Mr. Fisher’s family never sees fit to move the grave or I will never find my parents’ stone again.

Fort Logan is likely where Bill and I will be buried as Bill is a veteran who served in the Army in the 1960s. While I love the old cemeteries with the big trees and the massive headstones and statuary, I never regret that my parents are at Fort Logan or that we will be there at some point. The national cemeteries are so pretty and so well-tended. I do regret that I Mom's gravecan’t plant a peony bush like I could at a regular cemetery, but the fact that I never have to wonder if their grave is well-tended makes it worth it.

In my blog post last year, I talked about going to the cemetery every year in Columbus with my mom to leave flowers on the graves of her loved ones. It’s really why I go to Fort Logan every year. I know that Mom and Dad are not there, but I know wherever they are, they appreciate that I honor them in this way each year just as they did with their ancestors. I always laugh because many people bring out artificial flowers to leave by the graves, and I totally understand why. I’m well aware that the kris flowers ft loganflowers I leave will likely be dead in just a few days. Nevertheless, I know my mother would haunt me if I left her artificial flowers. In fact, one year, shortly after she died, Bill made a beautiful wreath using artificial flowers in patriotic colors that we left there, and it weighed heavy on my heart for a long time. Sorry Mom.

I hope you all enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) the Memorial Day holiday, which unofficially kicks off summer (and hopefully signals an eventual end to constant rainfall on Colorado’s front range). I’m glad we have such a beautiful and solemn occasion to start off the summer.

Saturday Smile: Singin’ in the Rain

I know you are going to think this is just another in my long line of complaints about our wet weather here on the front range of Colorado. Though it does seem as though the rain will never end, I assure you I am coming to grips with gray skies. Well, at least I’m working on it.

No, what I’m going to tell you about is a dance performance I watched this past week featuring 8-year-old Dagny and just-turned-7-year old Magnolia. The concert featured several numbers, all of which were simply adorable. My favorite, however, was a dance to Singin’ in the Rain. The dance was enhanced by umbrellas carried by each of the girls and used as part of the choreography. It simply couldn’t have been cuter.

Dagny singing in the rain

Dagny (on the right) is ready to dance across the floor with her umbrella.

 

Maggie is singin' and dancin' in the rain.

Maggie (on the right) is singin’ and dancin’ in the rain.

For good measure, they also danced to The Theme to the Pink Panther and another song which I can’t remember because it wasn’t familiar, but with a slumber party theme. Too, too cute.

I’m glad we were able to attend, because apparently this is the end of their career, as both of the girls are choosing to be finished with dance.

Have a great Memorial Day weekend, and let’s remember what the holiday is really about.

Friday Book Whimsy: Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman

imgresThink Downton Abbey with a big dash of Miss Marple, and you will begin to get a flavor of Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman, a debut novel by Tessa Arlen. Fans of Downton Abbey will heartily enjoy Arlen’s story featuring a look at the upstairs/downstairs phenomenon in pre-World War II England.

Lord and Lady Monfort are hosting their annual summer ball at their estate, Iyontwood. Both the upstairs privileged class and the downstairs servants have been involved in the preparations. Unfortunately, the ball concludes with the disappearance of a young house maid and the daughter of one of Lord and Lady Montfort’s close friends (who had attended the ball), as well as the gruesome murder of a particularly distasteful character, the nephew of Lord Montfort. Are the matters related? The search for the young girls and the killer ensues.

Lady Monfort sees immediately that her beloved son is going to quickly become the prime suspect. So she asks for the help of Iyontwood’s pragmatic housekeeper Mrs. Jackson (Downton fans, think Mrs. Hughes). Together, the two of them work to find the real killer using their skills and individual connections.  Since almost everyone at the ball seems to have a good reason for wanting the despicable character dead, the solution isn’t readily apparent.

In addition to being a pretty darn good murder mystery, the novel presents a clear picture of the crumbling of the peerage system beginning shortly after World War I. I don’t know if I would have enjoyed the novel as much were I not such a big fan of Downton Abbey. I definitely understood the upstairs/downstairs relationships better than I would have pre-Downton Abbey.

Arlen lays out the mystery very subtly and effectively. She leaves clues all along the way, so readers must pay attention. I did not solve the mystery and was surprised at the solution.

Since this is a debut novel, I’m not sure whether this will become a series. I rather hope so, because I was very fond of the characters and would like to meet them again. I think I can definitely count on more offerings from this writer, and I look forward to reading them in the future.

Buy Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman from Amazon here.

Buy Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman from Barnes and Noble here.

Buy Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman from Tattered Cover here.

Buy Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman from Changing Hands here.

 

Thursday Thoughts

Belly Aching
I’ve been out of the hospital now for about a month-and-a-half. I’m feeling great; no problems with my stomach at all, thanks be to God. However, now comes the time when I have to deal with my hospital bills that are trickling in. Paying them is awful, but I think that reconciling them to the insurance claims is almost as bad. Bill is helping me, for which I’m very grateful. Two brains are better than one.  I don’t know how elderly folks who live alone manage. Having said that, I am very grateful to have insurance to provide the confusing claims!

bird feeder squirrel

This squirrel thief is dining on the seeds the birds accidentally drop.

Chirp
One of the first things I did upon returning to Denver was to fill up my bird feeder in the back yard (between rain showers). We offer our feathered friends black oil sunflower seeds, which small birds such as house finches and chickadees find yummy. Apparently squirrels also find them yummy, because I have already had to chase off a couple of squirrels who have managed to figure out how to shimmy up the skinny little wrought iron pole to reach the feeder. I’m going to suggest to them that they try out for America’s Got Talent. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that they eat the seeds, but squirrels seem to bring out the worst in me. After chasing off the most recent squirrel, I got out my Pam and sprayed the pole and the top of the feeder. Now I will just sit back and wait to see the squirrel sliding down the pole and I will laugh hysterically. Squirrel hater, that’s me.

Reality Television
And speaking of America’s Got Talent (which is ready to start up very soon), three of the talent programs we watch have wrapped up, and they all finished the way I’d hoped, or nearly so. Nick Fradiani took the prize on American Idol, and I liked him after losing interest in Clark Beckham (who went from being my favorite to getting on my last nerve). I like Nick’s smile, and he seems like such a nice man who loves his mommy and daddy. Rumer Willis definitely deserved to win Dancing With the Stars, though the few times I voted, it was for Riker Lynch, who I thought was just adorable. He came in second. I was also happy with Sawyer Fredericks winning The Voice, though again, I always voted for Meghan Linsey, who came in second. How adorable was it that when the top four were given a car, 16-year-old Sawyer admitted he didn’t even have his drivers’ license yet? I want to pinch his cheek. Actually, what I want to do is cut his hair and donate it to Locks of Love.  Still, the young man can sing! Maybe if he cut his hair he would be similar to Samson and lose his singing strength.

Sentimental Journey (Call the Midwife spoiler alert)
I’ve mentioned before that I’m a fan of PBS’s Call the Midwife. Big fan. Huge fan. Sunday was the season finale, at least until they run their annual Christmas special at the end of this year. I think it’s safe to say that I pretty much cried from the beginning until the end of the program. I was very glad that Bill wasn’t home, because 1) I would hate to have to try and make him understand all of the reasons I was crying since it would take oh-so-much explanation (thalidomide? Trixie’s alcoholic father? Amnesia? sign language?; and 2) he hates even being in the house while I’m watching the show because of all of the screaming during childbirth. But seriously, could it have been any sadder? How can I wait until next year to find out what happens to my favorite midwives? And please, please, give Chummy a bigger role next season.

Let the Growing Begin
Literally between rain showers yesterday, I managed to get the remainder of my plants into the ground. I have now added chives and basil to the herbs that I will be able to enjoy this summer on the off chance that it ever stops raining long enough for the plants to get some sunshine in order to grow. I still intend to plant dill, but I haven’t been able to find it at the garden stores in which I shopped. I will make a trip to my favorite garden store — Groundcovers — this weekend. They have everything.

By the way, forecast for today, rain. Sigh.

 

Alluding to Eluding the Grammar Police

The other night my grandson Alastair asked me, “Nana, what was your favorite subject in school back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Well, actually he didn’t say that last part, but I’m sure that’s what he was thinking. He probably wondered how I could even see my books when the only lighting came from candlelight and the potbelly stove.

The answer was simple. “English was my favorite subject,” I answered. His is math. I hated math and was never any good at it. But I always was a good speller.

“I think people like the subjects that they’re good at,” was Alastair’s conclusion when I explained my distaste for math to him. He’s a wise child at age 10.

Actually, more generally speaking, my favorite subjects were English, spelling, and literature. I absolutely LOVED to diagram sentences. Do they diagram sentences any longer?

If you would have asked me a couple of days ago if I was a good grammarian, I would have gotten a cramp in my neck from heartily patting myself on the back as I bragged that I had a SPLENDID understanding of the English language. Anyway, that’s what I would have said until I reread yesterday’s blog post about spring fever.

And immediately spotted an error. “Bad for those trying to allude a chest cold,” I said. ALLUDE instead of the correct term, ELUDE. Arghhhh. I know these things. Rookie mistake.

So I corrected it, but of course the incorrect version that I put on Facebook remains as a permanent reminder to me that perhaps my grammar ain’t all that great.

Later that day I sent a text to my son Court, who is an amazing writer. Here’s what my text said: This is a test. Look at today’s blog post and find the error.

A short time later I get his answer: You misspelled temporarily. You have temperarily.

And so I did.

He also pointed out another grammatical error. It was about then that I stopped asking him to find the mistake. And went and put my head under a pillow for the rest of the afternoon.

More times than he cares to remember, I have said to Bill, “Must I be the world’s editor?” I’ve said this in response to misspellings on store signs or restaurant menus. Seriously? Doesn’t anyone know how to spell zucchini?

I’ve started taking photos.

Here’s one……

misspell little kitchen

All the right letters, just not in the right order. Damn those French anyway.

 

And another…..

misspelled papa kelsies

Guess the H is silent. Damn those Italians. Not sure I want a peanut butt cookie either. Would it have taken that much longer to add the -er?

 

And one more…..

misspell guidos

Why misspell one word when you can misspell two? I can sort of understand “foccacia” instead of “focaccia” but to misspell “spaghetti” when you are an Italian restaurant?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But you know what Jesus said about casting the first stone. As for me, I will be working harder at proofing and trying not to write anything at 6 o’clock in the morning.

Our Spring Fever Comes from Head Colds

back yard rain 2015

Our back yard this morning as a steady rain continues to fall.

While Arizona is enjoying a particularly nice May, here in Denver, my heat flips on each morning. Seeing the sun is such a rarity that when it comes out, people run into the street and point to the sky as if seeing a UFO. Denverites are going to Seattle to vacation so they can have nicer weather. Bada boom.

It’s been a rainy spring, and as my great-niece Mackenzie would say, I am so OVER IT. Today Denver is supposed to have a high – A HIGH – of 50.

garden play areaLast night on the local news, the weather forecaster actually seemed embarrassed to show the 10-day forecast as each and every day indicated more showers and thunderstorms. She pointed out that there has only been one day of sunshine in May. One. Don’t get me wrong; it isn’t unusual to have afternoon showers in Colorado, especially in the mountains. But I’m talking day after day of little or no sunshine at all. We keep waiting for the pattern to change, but it’s being very stubborn.

Good for the farmers, I guess. But bad for those trying to elude head and chest colds. Or plant a garden.

I’ve been trying to get my garden planted since Mother’s Day. Bill built raised gardenme a small raised garden bed out of cement blocks. You guessed it. I saw it on Pinterest. The grandkids will be astounded to see that the raised garden is right smack in their play area. Don’t worry; they can still get to the sand box and to the ladder up to the fort. They just need to go around a garden. If I can get it planted.

I have to be quick between rain showers. The other day I planted carrots, radishes, green beans, two tomato plants, and a jalapeno plant. I planted very quickly. And then I ran inside to wait out the rain shower.

A short time later when showers temporarily subsided, I planted oregano, Italian parsley, and thyme in the holes in the cinder blocks. Again, very quickly.

I have basil and chives still waiting on my kitchen counter to be planted, but neither yesterday nor today offered me the opportunity.

Cole in swingI have to keep it all in perspective, however. As I said before, the rain is good for the farmers. Our grass looks spectacular. You can see how green it is in this photo which just happens to include our youngest grandchild Cole, last in the line (so far) of kids who have enjoyed swinging on Nana’s tree swing. The photo was taken on the one day of sunshine.

Trust me.  Come July, I will be complaining about the hot weather.

Nevertheless, I am eagerly looking forward to sitting outside in the evening and enjoying the birds and the sunshine. It will happen. I know it will.

 

You’re Going Where?

300px-Caravaggio_-_Martirio_di_San_Pietro

Caravaggio’s painting of St. Peter’s crucifixion.

Yesterday we celebrated the feast of the Ascension. It of course took me somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 minutes to find where the readings for the Mass were located in my prayer book. You see, the ACTUAL feast of the Ascension is 40 days after Easter, thereby making last Thursday the real feast day. However, last Thursday was also the feast of St. Matthias, so there were readings for his feast day as well. Confusing.

Thankfully we got to Mass early and the family in the pew in front of us with the two boys (one somewhere around 5 and the other seemingly newborn, and preemie at that) hadn’t yet arrived so I wasn’t yet distracted by watching the baby slowly slip out of the arms of his brother, whose mother inexplicably thought letting him hold his brother without her paying any attention was a good idea. I know, I know. I’m supposed to be praying. I was. Praying that Mom would turn around before little baby boy slipped much further. I seriously was poised to dive and catch.

At any rate, I found the readings and listened to Luke’s story of Jesus’ ascension from the Acts of the Apostles as well as St. Mark’s brief reference to the same thing at the end of his gospel. During the homily, when I should have been listening to our priest who is from India and very difficult to understand, I was instead thinking about the television show on Sunday nights called A.D. The Bible Continues. I’m recording it and watching it later, and so I recently watched the episode in which Jesus ascended into heaven. In the television show, his disciples sort of seem to take it all in stride. It seems to me in real life they must have been FREAKING OUT. After all, this weird thing was taking place in which Jesus disappears in a bright light, only a short time after he appeared to them having risen from the dead. My friends, it seems like a lot to digest.

But maybe even more than that, it seems like they must have been thinking, “OH MY LORD IN HEAVEN! What do we do now?” After all, Jesus had clearly instructed them to continue his teachings and to build his church. But unless they were considerably smarter than I, they must have found his teachings confusing and vague and how in heavens do we explain that Jesus ROSE FROM THE DEAD AND JUST NOW ASCENDED INTO HEAVEN?

I guess at some point they must have concluded that his teachings really weren’t that vague or confusing. Love God and love your neighbor as much as you love yourself. That’s pretty much it.

But if I’m getting nothing else from the above-mentioned television show (besides noticing just how doggone gorgeous the actors who play Jesus and his disciples are which makes me think I’m committing at least a venial sin), I’m realizing that those 12 apostles and, in fact, all of Jesus’ original disciples and followers, were BRAVE. Really, when you think how brave they were, how can you doubt that Jesus was in fact the Messiah? Those men and women clearly were steadfast in their belief that Jesus is God and he died and rose to save us from our sins. They placed themselves in danger every day to tell the rest of the world this good news.

I was startled out of my reverie when I heard Father say, “And, in conclusion…..” Thank goodness. His conclusion was that we all need to continue the work of the early disciples and spread the good news about Jesus Christ.

While there is likely no way I could ever have been as brave as Stephen and Andrew and Peter and Phillip and Thomas and all of the others who died while trying to tell the world about Jesus, I can be brave enough to talk about my faith to others. I’m probably not going to get stoned.

Saturday Smile: Don’t Bug Me

My McLain grandchildren, including, I dare to say, the ones in Vermont, are interested in bugs. Of course, Dagny would be at the top of the list, even going so far as purporting a desire to be an entymologist when she grows up. Maggie Faith is a close runner-up. The Denver McLains almost always have some sort of container housing worms or ants or roly polys which are on their last legs — all six of them. In fact, on their cross-country adventure several years ago, they even ate an insect or two. Remember this photo…..

Dagny Bug

On the other hand, my Zierk grandchildren could live forever without six-legged or eight-legged critters. I assure you, they take after their Nana. I am not a fan of God’s six- and eight-legged creatures.

At one point on Friday, 4-year-old Mylee was so distraught at the Mylee 2015sight of several black ants on our patio that she climbed up onto one of the chairs and declared that she wouldn’t get down until the ants were dead. There was no persuading her that, while ants might not have a place in a kitchen, they certainly have a right to the outdoors.

“Where did the ants come from Nana?” she asked as if she was the health inspector. I tried explaining that they probably had a house underground and were glad to see the warm weather. Nope. She wasn’t having it. As far as she was concerned, they could just stay underground.

Later in the day, Addie came by for a visit and was outside with Mylee. I overheard Addie yell to her 4-year-old cousin, “Mylee, come see. There’s a roly poly.”

Mylee, who loves her cousin Addie, quickly rode her scooter over to where Addie was standing. I thought to myself, “Oh, oh. Girlfriend is not going to like what she sees.” As I watched, Mylee looked down, said something to Addie, turned around, and headed the other direction.

Later that night I asked Mylee what she said to Addie when she saw the roly poly.

She was quiet for a second, and then told me, “Nana, I told her that was a very good bug.”

You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your 12-year-old cousin.

Have a great weekend and may all your bugs be good bugs.