Author Archives: kzmclain

Friday Book Whimsy: Recipe for Disaster

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searchAuthor Stacey Ballis had me at miniature schnauzer.

Ballis is a new author to me, though she has written a total of eight books. Judging from the titles, many of them incorporate cooking and food into the book, something that will draw me every time. It also seems as though many of the books include a dog, and a different kind of dog each time. Recipe for Disaster had a miniature schnauzer, which is the kind of dog I had when I had a dog, and is probably the only kind of dog I would ever own.

I fully admit I bought the book because of the schnauzer, and was disappointed and surprised that the dog was actually kind of mean and not a bit loveable, at least to the main character, Anneke. Despite the author’s presentation of the dog, I must admit to liking this book very much.

There are many plot concepts going on. Recipe for Disaster includes recipes, a dusty journal discovered in the pantry of an old house, an abusive upbringing, best friends, all of the usual suspects included in what is referred to as chick lit, a term of which I’m not terribly fond.

In one single day Anneke loses both her job and her boyfriend. She decides to go all in on a project in which she is involved – an old house in an up-and-coming Chicago neighborhood that she has slowly been rebuilding into something magnificent. Anneke learned about old houses and construction from her stepfather, the only person who had ever loved her fully and unconditionally.

In the course of construction, Anneke comes across an old journal/cookbook written by the housekeeper/cook of the original owners back in the 1800s. Surprisingly, the book provides guidance and a sense of stability to Anneke, who also learns to cook by following the recipes.

There are some problems with the story. Ballis’ descriptions of the rehabilitation are detailed to a fault. Anyone interested in home design and/or architecture will find it fascinating. Even though I’m not particularly a home designer, I found her detailed description of the rehab project quite interesting. Still, I did a lot of skimming through those sections.

Furthermore, Ballis’ writing style is such that she uses long, detailed paragraphs, something that can become tedious reading. Nevertheless, I found the plot to be interesting and the characters likeable.

In fact, I liked the main character very much. Anneke is not a typical protagonist. She isn’t particularly attractive, she loves to eat Chicago’s delicious foods, and her weight illustrates her love for food. She is independent and has a hard time getting close to people. A surprise visitor and a strange new friendship/relationship helps Anneke to begin to trust and love.

The ending was somewhat predictable, but the journey to the ending was full of surprises.

I will definitely pick up another of Ballis’ books, and soon.

Buy Recipe for Disaster from Amazon here.

Buy Recipe for Disaster from Barnes and Noble here.

The Recipe for Disaster from Tattered Cover here.

Buy Recipe for Disaster from Changing Hands here.

 

Thursday Thoughts

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Backseat riders dagny maggie

Magnolia and Dagny provided moral support and medical advice from the back seat of my yellow bug.

Croak

My voice is slowly coming back. Yesterday was the first time I allowed myself to socialize with someone outside my family. I had lunch with a friend who didn’t mind that I was still kind of croaky. I have babysitting duties this week so I am spending lots of time with grandchildren. When I picked up the kids from school on Monday, they – and when I say “they” I am talking primarily about Maggie Faith and Dagny – were quite distraught about my voice, or lack thereof. They began giving lots of advice from the back seat. “I think you should drink a big glass of milk,” Dagny advised. I explained – well, croaked, really – that milk was probably the worst thing to drink since my throat was full of mucus and milk is thick and would not be helpful. “Suck on throat lozenges,” suggested Magnolia. I told Maggie that I thought that was a pretty good idea. Their concern and advice is touching, and might save me doctor bills in the future.

Eat What You Read

For as long as I can remember, when I read about people enjoying food in a book, I immediately begin craving that food. A year ago or so, I recall reading a mystery that took place in Mississippi in which numerous mentions were made about eating fried catfish. If we had been in Denver, I would have known exactly where to go to feed the craving for fried catfish. However, we were in Arizona, and while I’m sure there is someplace that offers fried catfish, I didn’t know what they place might be. So instead, I did a fairly good job of preparing it myself. I just finished a book that had many references to food (I will review the book tomorrow). In the course of one book, I felt the need to eat Indian food, fix myself a soft-boiled egg and a piece of buttered toast to dunk in the egg, and fix myself a piece of cinnamon toast because these things were mentioned in the book. There’s something about reading about people enjoying some kind of food that makes me want to be part of that experience. By the way, my grandmother never fixed me any other kind of egg but soft-boiled. She taught me how to cut off the end and enjoy the runny goodness. I have yet to successfully cook a soft-boiled egg. The egg turns out either too undercooked or too overcooked. But I’m still working on it.

Climbing Stairs

I have mentioned many times how much Bill and I love our house in Arizona. It’s small and one story. While neither Bill nor I have any problems climbing stairs – at least not yet – we both wish we could fold up the house and bring it home when we come back to Denver. Pretty sure Jen wouldn’t like that idea since it’s her house too. Our Denver house, while not a mansion, has an upstairs and a basement, both which we must access regularly. And again, while not a mansion, it has four bedrooms and three bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, an office, and a family room, along with the expected kitchen. Here’s what we use: the family room, the kitchen, the office, and our bedroom. The rest become storage rooms and dust collectors.

Wardrobe Swap

We have a new electronic neighborhood bulletin board that Bill and I have joined. I really like it. It’s, for example, how I found the young man who shoveled our walks this past winter. I noticed one of the ads yesterday was for someone who wanted to know if anyone was interested in doing a wardrobe swap as she has apparently lost weight. It made me laugh out loud. I would like to see the look on someone’s face when they took a look at my wardrobe. They seriously would start taking up a collection so that I could purchase, well, a wardrobe.

It Takes a Village

Yesterday when I picked up the grandkids from school, I looked around and noticed that somewhere in the neighborhood of a third of the folks waiting for school dismissal were clearly grandparents. What would we do without our extended family?

 

Now Where Did I Put That Again?

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William PerryIt’s taken me 61 years to realize that when God was giving out organizational skills, I was apparently not only standing in the back of the line, but I was behind someone really big, like maybe William “Refrigerator” Perry. Oh, I know….God sees all things. I’m just trying to make a point.

When it comes to organization, I have none.

My lack of skills in this area became abundantly clear to me recently when my daughter-in-law was making arrangements for her four children because both she and our son Dave were going to be out of town at the same time. Apparently they didn’t feel leaving cans of Campbell’s soup and cracking the windows was enough; the children actually needed supervision. Helicopter parents.

Dave and Jll will be the first to admit they are lucky to have a plethora of family and friends to help out when they are in this kind of situation. Three grandmothers, one grandfather, an aunt, an uncle, and many friends all willingly pitch in to provide support. It does, indeed, take a village.

Jll asked me many weeks ago if Bill and I could help them out, and we happily agreed. She always spreads out the duties so that none of us feel overwhelmed. In addition, she always sends out an organizational chart that looks like this…..

jlls list

Seriously. It’s color-coordinated. We can all figure out our duties at a glance just by knowing what color we are. Next time I’m going to ask to be pink instead of green. Green isn’t in my color wheel.

That’s organized.

Bill's ipadBill is also very organized. Tool cabinets, boxes for paint supplies, shelves on which he places anything that relates to our cars. Even his IPad is organized. While my IPad has apps in the order in which I acquired them, haphazardly placed wherever they landed, Bill has created little folders with titles such as “News” and “Travel” and “Sports” and “Shopping.” He can access information almost instantly. Should I create little folders, I would never remember what I’ve put into which folder. Is Amazon in my book folder or my shopping folder? Should I look at my home folder or my cooking folder to find Pinterest?

Believe me, I am not poking fun at either of them, not in the least little bit. I wish I had a 10th of that organizational ability.

Every once in a while, I get an urge to organize. For example, recently, while still in Arizona, I got tired of digging around for the plastic containersright lid to my plastic food containers. The containers themselves were stuffed inside a cabinet. I practically had to carefully open the cupboard, toss the container in and quickly shut the door before it came tumbling out. Not quite that bad, but almost.

So I did what I always do when I get that rare itch to organize. I made a trip to The Container Store. But before I did that, I spent one entire morning taking out all of my containers and all of my lids and seeing what matched. Surprisingly, I only ended up with a couple of stray lids and/or containers. It appears I’m not careless, only disorganized.

I explained to Bill what I wanted to do, and he went with me to The Container Store. Together, we found a big plastic bin to hold the containers and a small, plastic bin to hold the lids. I then did something I learned on (where else?) Pinterest: I numbered everything. So each container has a number and the lid has a matching number.

The first time Jen opened that cupboard, she said (with a little too much surprise, I thought), “Kris, this looks great!”

The pride I felt from her praise, unfortunately didn’t result in me moving on to organize my closet. You know how I said when you have a house, something always goes wrong, and when you have two houses, mishaps happen to the second power? Well, the same holds true for closets. When you have two houses, you also have two messy closets.

Maybe I need to make a trip to The Container Store.

Starry Night

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kaiya starry nightI have mentioned this before, but I feel it’s important to mention it again. When I was in first grade, I was learning to read, learning to print my letters neatly, learning to count, learning to be away from my mommy for a full day, and – because I attended Catholic school – beginning to memorize my Baltimore catechism (Who is God? God is the Supreme Being who made all things, except that I thought the nuns were saying “string bean” because see above: I couldn’t read).

I dare to say that for most kids these days, thanks to early childhood education and Sesame Street (and all of the subsequent children’s learning programs), all of those things are old hat by time kids reach the first grade. I have two granddaughters in first grade and they can both full-out read. I think it’s wonderful, though I dare to say that, despite learning things later than our grandkids, we did catch up. Most of us can read quite well, thank you very much.

But the fact that kids learn more in first grade than I ever did was revealed to me with a vengeance this past week. I picked up 6-year-old Kaiya from school on Thursday, and she came out of the door bearing a piece of artwork that had her name on it.

“What’s that?” I asked her.

“Starry Night,” she replied.

Now, the only Starry Night I had ever heard of was the painting by Vincent Van Gogh, and she certainly couldn’t be talking about that.

“Did you draw that from your imagination or copy it from something?” I asked her carefully.

You know how your grandchildren (or perhaps your children) can look at you as if they can’t believe you are the ones running the world?

“It’s copied from Van Gogh’s Starry Night painting, Nana,” she said, and I’m pretty sure she was rolling her eyes.

“You’re learning about Vincent Van Gogh?” I asked SIX-YEAR-OLD Kaiya.

Hibiscus with Plumeria, by Georgia O'Keeffe

Hibiscus with Plumeria, by Georgia O’Keeffe

“Yes,” she replied. “And about Georgia O’Keeffe. She likes to draw flowers. My table’s artist today was Matisse, but I really like Picasso.”

Van Gogh's Starry night above; Kaiya's Starry night below.

Van Gogh’s Starry night above; Kaiya’s Starry night below.

At 6 years old, the extent of my artistic ability was making snowmen out of cotton balls, pipe cleaners and glue.

But, just to show her that I knew a little something about art, I said, “Picasso’s paintings are really strange, aren’t they? He liked to use his imagination.”

“Nana,” she said, “Picasso liked to use his FEELINGS.”

“Well, I think those two things are the same,” I said, somehow feeling it necessary to one-up my 6-year-old granddaughter.

Feelings v. imagination.

Feelings v. imagination.

I’m certain I have the smartest grandchildren in the world, though I’m pretty sure most grandparents think that to be true. But in addition to Kaiya’s eerie knowledge about art, 8-year-old Dagny told me she got kudos from her teacher this past week because she was the only one in her class who knew what a buffalo soldier was.

Buffalo Soldiers, stolen from Africa, brought to America (as the song goes)

Buffalo Soldiers, stolen from Africa, brought to America (as the song goes)

I knew I was in trouble because the only Buffalo Soldier I know of is the song by Bob Marley, and I never could understand what he was saying.

“What did you say a buffalo soldier was?” I asked her, not because I wanted to know if she gave the right answer, but because I wanted to know what a buffalo soldier was without letting her know that I didn’t know what a buffalo soldier was. She gave me the right answer. I looked it up later on Wikipedia. Sigh.

It’s a good thing I don’t have to help any of them with their homework, because unless it’s spelling, I’m no help whatsoever.

Speechless

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A funny thing happened on the way to Mother’s Day. Well, a couple of funny things, really. A May snowstorm and Nana is speechless.

For the second year in a row, we had a snowstorm on Mother’s Day. Last year a snowstorm prevented Bill and me from attending our annual Mother’s Day brunch with my sister Jen, her son BJ, and his girlfriend Page in Boulder. This year I was determined that NOTHING was going to stop me.

We, in fact, got way more snow than we did last year, but it fell earlier in the day. By time we awoke at 7 o’clock, the snow was finished and the meltoff had begun. Last year the snow was madly falling right about the time we would have been driving to Boulder. This year, all we had to contend with were wet highways and a fallen aspen tree in our back yard. More work for Bill…..

broken tree Mothers Day 2015

The drive was painless and the brunch was delicious. Nothing says thanks to motherhood like refilling a plate three or five times, and eating four – count ‘em – four creme brulees. They were small. Tiny; really, really tiny.

Mothers Day brunchers

But the second thing that happened on the way to Mother’s Day actually happened on Saturday. We attended our grandson Cole’s first birthday party. I’m not sure when this became the practice, but parents now give their one-year-old birthday child his/her own cake and let them have at it. Not complaining; I think it’s cute as can be. In fact, the cakes now have a name – smash cakes. It’s hard to keep up. Anyhoo, it can be hit or miss. Some toddlers like the cake; some are totally and completely unimpressed. For his part, Cole apparently thinks smash cakes – or any cakes, really – are a great idea. He had a bit of a time getting started, but as his little hand hovered over his smash cake, his cousin Dagny helpfully smooshed his hand down into the cake, and it didn’t take long before he recognized the delights of chocolate cake…..

Cole and smash cake

So, I mentioned the other day that I was dealing with a cold. As far as colds go, I have had worse. Or so I thought. I was somewhat hoarse at the party, but fully able to talk, and even sang (well, croaked, really) the birthday song to Cole.

However, when we got home, I went upstairs to my office for an hour or so to do some work on my computer. I noticed we got an email from our neighbor, and I went down to show the email to Bill.

“Hey Bill, did you see this email from Bob?” I said. Or, I tried to say. Because nothing came out. I kid you not. I was completely unable to speak. I couldn’t even croak. That has never happened to me in my 61 years on this earth. I have gotten hoarse, but never completely voiceless. It was the strangest feeling ever.

For two days now I have communicated with Bill through notes. I discovered that he is completely unable to lip read. And because he is also unable to read anything without his reading glasses, conversation has been cumbersome to say the least. When we got into bed Saturday night, he said, “I don’t like when you can’t talk.”

I woke up yesterday morning hopeful that I would have a voice, but alas, nothing came out. So Bill found an app for my IPad that allowed me to write notes with my finger and erase the note so that I could write a new note. Sort of the 21st century version of the Magic Slate. Remember the Magic Slate?

We managed to get to Boulder, and managed to have a semblance  of conversation with our fellow brunchers. In fact, at one point, I even was able to talk a bit (I credit the champagne). But as the day wore on, my voice wore out once again.

Here’s the good news….it’s a temporary affliction, and I’m able to nag Bill even without a voice. I’m surprised he isn’t relieved as opposed to disappointed.

Saturday Smile: Look Before You Send

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We all have a love/hate relationship with the autocorrect feature on our phones, don’t we? Bill keeps threatening to turn his off, but mine comes in handy, so I just try to be very careful before I hit send. I’m not always successful.

However, I don’t think I’ve ever had an autocorrect fail like these. I literally was laughing so hard as I read this post, I cried.

http://www.rantlifestyle.com/2015/04/14/20-auto-correct-fails-that-will-get-you-through-the-day/

Have a great weekend, and look before you press “send.”

Friday Book Whimsy: Under the Same Blue Sky

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under the same blue skyUnder the Same Blue Sky is Pamela Schoenewaldt’s third novel and I have watched her novels get better with each offering.

Schoenewaldt writes about immigrants, or at least has in her three novels to date. Her debut, When We Were Strangers, is the story of a young girl who comes to America from the Abruzzo region of Italy to escape the whims of a lustful father. In Schoenewaldt’s second offering, Swimming in the Moon, her main character, Theresa, comes to America from Naples, Italy, along with her mother who struggles with mental illness.

Under the Same Blue Sky introduces us to a family who emigrated from Germany to what seems to be one of Schoenewaldt’s favorite locations – Pittsburgh. The main character, Hazel, lives with her mother and father who are shopkeepers and they are living a happy life. That is, until World War I breaks out and suddenly the neighbors no longer see American immigrants but instead see evil Germans who are America’s enemies.

In the course of adjusting to their disrupted lives, Hazel learns a devastating secret about her family, and everything changes. She eventually leaves to take a job as a teacher in a small farming community, where she begins to find happiness.

Until, oddly I thought, she discovers she has the ability to heal. Once the community realizes Hazel has the power to cure, she is nearly overcome by people wanting her healing powers and not understanding that not everyone can be healed.

I say “oddly” because once Hazel leaves this small community to learn more about her family secrets, the healing thing just sort of dies down.

Despite this rather strange and (I thought) random part of the book, I found the novel to be simply magnificent. I loved all of the characters and haven’t been able to forget them, despite the fact that I read this book some months ago. The story was interesting and I found I couldn’t put the book down.

One of the things I most liked about the story was getting another perspective about what was really an awful war – World War I. We forget how American Germans (and in World War II, also Japanese) were treated once they became America’s enemies. Interesting and sobering.

My only complaint, once again, is the storyline around Hazel’s ability to heal. I would LOVE to have another story that features her healing abilities and how it impacts her life without getting distracted by another storyline.

Nevertheless, I highly recommend this wonderful book.

Buy Under the Same Blue Sky from Amazon here.

Buy Under the Same Blue Sky from Barnes and Noble here.

The Under the Same Blue Sky from Tattered Cover here.

Buy Under the Same Blue Sky from Changing Hands here.

Thursday Thoughts

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Ah Choo

I told you that I came home to grandkidarama. I couldn’t possibly be more delighted about seeing them again. The thing is, where there are school-age kids, there is often school-age-kids-related illness. Like colds. I went into it with my eyes wide open. I knew a few of the grandkids had sniffly noses. I could hear the coughs. I had a one-year-old’s drool on my sweater from a one-year-old who was later diagnosed with (count ‘em) two ear infections (he would likely have had three had he had three ears). So Tuesday evening when my throat began to feel scratchy, I had to admit to myself that I was likely coming down with a cold. Sure enough, I woke up in the middle of the night with a massively sore throat full of phlegm. My first cold of 2015 is upon me. The hugs and kisses were well worth the few days of sniffling that will ensue. After all, remember this?……..

Cole snuggling

and this…..

looking at disney pics

Mother’s Day Weather

Every Mother’s Day, Bill and I enjoy brunch at the Greenbriar Restaurant outside of Boulder with my sister Jen. Prior to marrying and starting his own Mother’s Day traditions, Court used to join us. BJ hasn’t missed a single one that I can remember. The brunch is magnificent, with tables and tables of goodies from a breakfast bar featuring omelets made to order to salads, prime rib and leg of lamb carving stations, oysters on the half shell, and all things in between. The dessert table alone is worth the price of admission. I remember one year when Court ate 10 or 12 crème brulees by himself. Ah, there is nothing quite like an all-you-can-eat buffet when you’re college-aged. Last year, an infrequent-but-certainly-not-unheard-of winter snowstorm prevented Bill and me from making it to the brunch. Six to eight inches of snow didn’t deter BJ, however, who has four-wheel drive expressly for such emergencies. For 12 months I have lamented missing that buffet. So I have looked foward to Sunday with great pleasure.

Except for the fact that Weather Channel shows a snowflake on their Sunday weather forecast. Be gone, Winter. I told Bill that I will simply not miss this year so that snowflake must go away. We listened to the weather news this morning, and it sounds like the snow will be above 7,000 feet.

Speaking of Weather….

We have had rain every day since we got home, except for the day of our arrival when Bill mowed our overgrown lawn after driving 450 miles. I’m beginning to think that I should start rounding up the animals. Friday we are supposed to watch 8-year-old Dagny sing the National Anthem (along with 100 of her closest Southmoor Elementary Choir friends) at the Rockies game. Unfortunately, the Rockies are having a HELL of a time even having a game because of rain and thunderstorms. Tomorrow’s forecast doesn’t look good, I’m afraid. Nor does Saturday’s, when Cole will have his one-year-old birthday celebration, which is designed to be held outdoors. Fingers crossed. And by the way, if Denver is supposed to have over 300 days of sunshine a year, the sun better get busy. I’m eager to begin cleaning up our patio and enjoying a drink in the evening sitting on my rocking chair that we hauled those same 450 miles.

Chihuly Glass Exhibit ala the Beverly Hillbillies

Undoubtedly many of you have had the pleasure of seeing a display of the amazingly beautiful glass designs by glass artist Dale Chihuly. I saw the exhibit a couple of years ago at the Phoenix Botanical Gardens, and was lucky enough to see it again last summer at the display at the Denver Botanical Gardens. The colorful glass designs amidst the gorgeous foliage and as part of pretty water features are a sight to behold.

Last fall when we cleaned up our yard in preparation for winter, I threw our plastic balls into our own little empty water feature where they couldn’t blow away and I knew I could easily find them this spring. Because of the rain, however, our little cement pond is full of water. This morning, I looked at the pond and realized we have our own version of a glass exhibit. Watch out Mr. Chihuly.

Chihuly Glass exhibit at Denver Botanical Gardens

Chihuly Glass exhibit at Denver Botanical Gardens

The Beverly Hillbillies version ala our own cee-ment pond.

The Beverly Hillbillies version ala our own cee-ment pond.

Now if I could just find my umbrellas.

 

Dusty Books

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After publishing yesterday’s blog post, Bill and I got to talking about encyclopedias.

“Remember when people used to buy their encyclopedias from door-to-door salesmen?” Bill asked.

I certainly do. In fact, I would be willing to bet that the set of World Book Encyclopedias that lived on the bookshelf in our dining room in Columbus was purchased from just such a salesman by my mother. I wish I could ask her. (Kids, ask your parents questions NOW.) What I remember is that they were navy blue in color and were well-used. I’ll bet every one of the Gloor kids used our World Book Encyclopedia to do some sort of report for school. Each year Mom and Dad received a supplemental book that updated the facts based on what transpired the past year.

The original set looked like this…..

original world books

The annual updates looked like this…..

WorldBook

I wonder what happened to those encyclopedias. Likely, my mom (who was so NOT a hoarder) threw them away during one of their moves. Or they ended up in someone’s storage shed never again to be seen.

Thinking about our set of encyclopedias got me to recollecting just what else lived on that bookshelf and have subsequently been tossed.  Here’s a partial answer: Nancy Drew, girl detective; The Bobbsey Twins, boy and girl detectives; Trixie Belden, girl detective; and Cherry Ames, student nurse and detective. Is it any wonder that I am such a fan of mysteries to this day? Do any of those detectives ring a bell with other baby boomers?

Nancy DrewOf course, I’m sure many of you have heard of Nancy Drew. In fact, I’m pretty sure you can still purchase Nancy Drew mystery novels today; I think I’ve seen them at Costco. But just who was Cherry Ames?

She was the mystery-solving nurse who almost inspired my sister Bec to become a nurse (until she reached the post-Cherry-Ames-age-of-reason and realized she couldn’t stand the sight of blood and since most nurses don’t actually solve cherry ames setmurder mysteries, perhaps she should consider another occupation). What I remember about Cherry Ames is that she wore crisp white crackling nursing gowns and had a very cool nursing cap perched on top of her curly black hair. And when she went from “student nurse” to Cherry Ames“senior nurse” she got a black stripe. However, even envying that black stripe didn’t make me think I wanted to be a nurse. I throw up at the sight of throw-up.

And, by the way, why don’t nurses wear caps anymore?

I’ll bet many of you – even baby boomers – haven’t heard of the Bobbsey Twins. The Bobbsey Twins books we owned Bobbsey Twinswere very old and literally coming apart at the seams. Again, I wish I could ask my mom, but I can only think that she brought them with her into the marriage. We had the full set, after all. In fact, almost all of the books about which I’m writing were old and had broken spines. Was my mother a mystery fan? The Bobbsey Twins, by the way, were two sets of boy-and-girl twins –siblings —  who, if not exactly solving mysteries, were at the very least involved in interesting adventures.

As for Trixie Belden, my recollection is that those books were a bit newer……

trixie belden

I think I’m the only one in my family who read Trixie Belden, and man, did I ever love her life! She lived in upstate New York and her best friend was a pretty rich girl with honey-colored hair, who was appropriately called Honey. I think of my gal Trixie whenever I read about the Catskills or the Hudson Valley. Before meeting Trixie, I didn’t know there was anything in New York besides NYC.

I wish with all my heart that I had kept these books to share with my grandchildren. Addie read a few of the Nancy Drew books that had belonged to my niece Maggie, but I’m not sure she was as excited about them as I. Nancy’s spiffy roadster and all……

I regret the passing of books such as these until I remember the wonderful books kids are reading today. Harry Potter, for example.

What books did you read as a child?

 

IWWIWWIWI

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I am the vine; you are the branches....

I am the vine; you are the branches….

In years past, it used to be ASAP. Now in the day of instant gratification, ASAP has turned into IWWIWWIWI. I want what I want when I want it.

I Want What I Want When I Want It is actually the name of a song written back in – believe it or not – 1905. The song’s author – ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Victor Herbert – couldn’t possibly have imagined just what wanting something when you wanted it would mean in the 21st century.

Both Bill and I practically live with our IPads or our Smart Phones next to us or in our purse or pocket. Via one of these devices or the other, we can –and do – access information at the touch of a button. It’s hard to even envision a day when you had to look at an encyclopedia or dictionary to glean information.

It wasn’t that long ago that if you decided to purchase something, you had to wait until the stores opened. Life without Amazon is almost unimaginable. These days, when I want to buy something, I pick up my IPad, click on Amazon, find what I want, put it in my shopping cart, select Amazon Prime’s two-day free shipping, and the package is sitting at my doorstep in 48 hours. Soon it will be delivered by a drone. Someday I might only have to use the chip in my brain to place my order.

I occasionally forget to grab my cell phone when I leave the house. I remember it in a panic. What if someone is trying to reach me? What if I need to talk to someone right away? What if I need directions? I have to talk myself off the ledge and remind myself that there was a time – and not that long ago – when you had to talk on the telephone at your house. Sometimes the telephone receiver was even attached to the phone itself by a cord. And if I needed directions, I would look at a map. Or make a phone call before I left the house to get directions.

I remember fighting with my sisters when I was young for use of our one telephone, attached to the wall in our red linoleum-tiled kitchen. Heck. I remember having to wait until the neighbor lady was finished with her phone call because we were on a party line. (Look up party line on Wikipedia, Kids.)

And speaking of Wikipedia, I am perhaps Wikipedia’s best customer. I probably click on Wikipedia 10 to 15 times a day for one thing or another. And inevitably, while reading about whatever it is I felt I needed to know immediately, I get distracted and click on to a related topic, which leads me to another related matter. Before you know it, an hour has passed, and I can’t even remember what I was originally looking up.

I want what I want when I want it.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to go back to the days of party lines and reference librarians. I am all about FaceTime and Amazon and Google Maps. I like knowing that if my car breaks down I can call AAA using my cell phone. It just struck me funny that way back in 1905, there was discussion of any kind about wanting what I wanted when I wanted it.

Of course, upon looking into the lyrics, I learned that the song was all about the benefits of being a bachelor. Still and all…..

Believe it or not, I learned about the song from Sunday’s homily. Father Larry used I Want What I Want When I Want It as a launching point to talk about prayer. Remember last week when I talked about how difficult it is to reference God’s will when asking for his blessing? That’s because we want what we want when we want it.

Jesus told his disciples he was the vine and we are his branches. But Jesus went on to say, “IF you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.” The if is very important. In other words, ask for what you want and know that you can trust that God will do what’s best for you.

Excuse me. I want to go look up Victor Herbert on Wikipedia.