We Face Timed with our kids and grandkids in Vermont the other night, and they were anticipating an upcoming 25 degrees below zero. Actual temperature. They didn’t even seem fazed.

“Yeah, we get about 4 to 5 inches of snow every night,” our daughter said. “The studs on my tires work great and they keep the roads pretty well plowed. “And it’s really good for the skiing.”

I’m glad that they can look at life that way. As for me, I’m happy that today’s temperature neared 70, the sky was blue and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. This, my friends, is why we have a house in Arizona.

Bec and I, in fact, took our first stab at a hike yesterday. And it was a good one.

Unlike Colorado, southern Arizona doesn’t have huge mountain ranges. Instead it has red sandstone buttes that sort of pop out of the earth in random spots. A beautiful outcrop of these sandstone buttes is located in Papago Park, a city park that is right across the street from the Phoenix Zoo and the Desert Botanical Gardens in the city of Tempe.

Bec and I had attempted to hike in Papago Park last year, but were fairly unsuccessful. It isn’t a difficult hike, but the trails are also not particularly well-marked. Being spacially and directionally challenged –the both of us – we appreciate clearly marked trails. But she had hiked in Papago Park a couple of weeks ago with her son, daughter-in-law, and grands, and was pretty sure she had it nailed.

And she did. We walked the two-mile trail with almost no problems at all. There is a now-unused amphitheater that once hosted a variety of events; however, the development of a fairly busy road running right past it has brought events to a screeching halts. Ah, progress….

We even took a quick run through the zoo before we headed home. Actually, before I headed home. When I left, she was continuing her walk through the zoo.

But I had to come home for a very fun reason. Our son Court and his family are coming for a visit, and I needed to get the house ready. They should have arrived by time you read this post. They are driving, and planned on leaving after school Wednesday and drive straight through. Yoiks.

It will be the first time Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole see our Arizona house. We will have loads of fun showing off our desert surroundings.

 I don’t mind cooking; I enjoy it, even. And grocery shopping can be a pleasurable experience if you have time and are in a nice grocery store.

What causes me angst, however, is figuring out what I will cook for dinner each night. I simply struggle with being creative in regards to my dinner cooking plans. I have noticed as of late that every Sunday Whole Foods tweets dinner suggestions for the week. Great idea. I always check them out, but it’s difficult to find something they recommend that doesn’t include quinoa or hummus. I’m afraid that’s a no-go in my husband’s World of Food.

So in an effort to be a good and loving wife, I nearly every week ask Bill, “What shall I make for dinners this week?” And every week he answers in some version of “I couldn’t possibly care less.” But if I hold his feet to the fire and insist on an answer, it will be a sandwich. BLT. Hamburger. Grilled cheese with tomato soup.

Let me be clear. His first answer will always be “Let’s go out for pizza.” But his go-to second choice is a sandwich.

I’m not sure how it happened, but I married a man who can eat sandwiches for dinner. Ah, the things you forget to ask during courtship.

I asked him the other day if his mother ever – even once during Bill’s formative years – plopped a sandwich down in front of W. Rex McLain (Bill’s father) for dinner and said “bon appetit.”

Didn’t happen, he admitted. Lunch, yes; dinner, no. I rest my case.

For the most part, I don’t particularly care for sandwiches, even for lunch. I enjoy burgers. A hot dog will hit the spot. But a turkey sandwich on wheat bread with cheese? Nope.

Having said this, I must tell you that there is an exception.

The Italian sub sandwich at Guido’s Chicago Meats and Deli in Scottsdale, Arizona.

It is not unheard of for me to wake up in the middle of the night craving this sandwich. It is, quite simply, delicious. Scrumptious, really.

And I can’t figure out exactly why. The bread maybe? The quality of meat and provolone? The fact that olive oil literally drips from the sandwich as you eat it, requiring numerous napkins? The fact that the proprietor – Joe Guido — is always there and is brusk and crabby in a pleasant sort of Chicago way? And has that North Side Chicago twang that I’m so drawn to (which Bill doesn’t have, being a southsider and all…).

Joe Guido

I don’t know what it is, but I know what I like and I like Guido’s Italian subs.

Which is why yesterday, since we had a whole lot of nothing to do all day long, we decided a trip to Guido’s was in order.

It’s a good 30 minute drive from our house, and yesterday we ran into an unusual downpour. But on we went, the Italian sub firmly set in our minds.

And it was as good as I remembered, happily, having not eaten it for nearly a year. At one point Bill told me, “You have oil all over your hands and face.”

Yes I did.

I’m reluctant to talk about a restaurant that a large number of my readers can’t visit. Nevertheless, a visit to Guido’s is more than a restaurant experience. I have looked far and wide to find an Italian deli that offers a sandwich even close to that from Guido’s, but I have failed to date. Even in Chicago! So the half-hour drive from our house in Mesa, AZ is well worth it. A 13-1/2 hour drive from our house in Denver, CO may be a bit much.

But not necessarily.

Still in all, even as good as the Italian sub from Guido’s is, I wouldn’t want it for dinner!

Spiderman, Spiderman,
Does whatever a spider can.
Spins a web, any size,
Catches thieves just like flies.
Look out! Here comes the Spiderman.

Is he strong? Listen bud—
He's got radioactive blood.
Can he swing from a thread?
Take a look overhead.
Hey there! There goes the Spiderman.

In the chill of the night,
At the scene of the crime,
Like a streak of light,
He arrives just in time!

Spiderman, Spiderman,
Friendly neighborhood Spiderman.
Wealth and fame, he's ignored—
Action is his reward.
To him,
Life is a great big bang-up—
Wherever there's a hang-up,
You'll find the Spiderman!

Cole Jonathan AKA Spidey Baby

Have a great weekend.

I mentioned the other day that I read 20 fewer books in 2014 than I did in 2013. Having said that, I still read a heck of a lot of books. I’m retired, so I have lots of time to read. My friends and loved ones with small children are lucky to read five in a year, and three of those are by Dr. Seuss!

I read a variety of books, but mostly fiction. A lot of the books that I read are not necessarily newly published. All of my life I have tended to read books after they come out in paperback as opposed to brand new hardbacks. Even now that I read almost entirely on an electronic device – mostly my IPAD – that is still mostly true. Still, out of the books I will list, I read three as new releases.

Here are my five favorite reads of 2014, and not in any particular order….

Ordinary Grace, by William Kent Krueger. This novel was the first book I ever read by this author. Upon reading Ordinary Grace, I have begun reading his Cork O’Connor mysteries, which are marvelous. Ordinary Grace  is a beautiful story about a family in small-town Minnesota in 1961, as recalled by the main character as an adult decades later. Though the story is a sad tale, it is not depressing because in the end, it is a revelation of the grace of God in our lives.

The Silkworm, by Robert Galbraith. Galbraith is a pseudonym for J. K. Rowling, and The Silkworm is the second in a series featuring Cormoran Strike, an interesting protagonist with many layers. Galbraith’s novels read slowly, but the stories are excellent and interesting and his/her character development is exceptional. I would recommend reading the first in the series – The Cuckoo’s Calling — before reading The Silkworm.

Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good, by Jan Karon. Karon’s Mitford novels are books that I couldn’t possibly wait until they come out in paperback. Father Tim returns to Mitford and is back in the pulpit, at least temporarily, and back with all of the characters we love so much in this fictional North Carolina town.

Summer of the Dead, by Julia Keller. Third in the series, and not, perhaps, even the best. I want to sing from the rooftops the virtues of Keller’s writing, and am sorry that more people haven’t discovered her. The protagonist, Bell Elkins, is the district attorney in this poor West Virginia mining town. Believe me when I tell you that Ackers Gap, the town, could be one of the characters because it is so clearly portrayed and has such a profound impact on what transpires in the books. Keller’s writing is beautiful. However, if you’re looking for a fast-moving and light-hearted mystery series, this isn’t it. Keller has become one of my favorite authors.

Tara Road, by Maeve Binchy. I will be reviewing this novel next week, so I won’t say a lot about it here. It is an older book by a relatively prolific author who died in 2012. According to my sister, she was one of my mother’s favorite authors. Tara Road was only the second book I’ve read by Binchy, and I enjoyed it more than the first that I read, which was A Week in Winter, which, to be fair, is loved by many. It was, perhaps, my favorite read of 2014.

There you have it Folks. I must say I had a difficult time limiting my list to five, as I am an easy date when it comes to reading. I used to wonder why I liked nearly all of the books I read, until it occurred to me that if I don’t like a book, I stop reading it. When that’s your reading style, you end up reading almost only books you like. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, “Life’s too short to read a bad book.”

I’m looking forward to seeing what I pick up in 2015.

What were the best books you read in 2014?

Almost exactly a year ago (January 3, 2014, to be exact; I know because I blogged about our experience), Bill and I went to our local Mesa Costco only to find it so incredibly busy with post-Christmas winter visitors descending upon the East Valley that we couldn’t find a place to park in the immense parking lot. I vowed before God and my readers that I would never again go to Costco right after New Year’s Day. In fact, I think what I might have said was “As God is my witness, they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this and when it’s all over, I’ll never be hungry again.” Oh wait, that might have been Scarlett O’Hara because I have a vague recollection of someone – I thought it was Bill – saying, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Anyway, it doesn’t matter because there we were, Friday, January 2, 2015, driving around the Costco parking lot, dodging Buicks with Minnesota license plates and desperately looking for someplace to park. Though I was well-aware of the likelihood of frenzied masses at Costco, the situation was dire. Bill was nearly out of the Parkinson’s medication that keeps him functioning normally and nearly as serious, he had eaten the last of his peanut-butter filled pretzels. Desperation won out over reason. Peanut butter pretzels….

At least this time I was smart enough to not use a cart.

I seriously can’t even begin to tell you how many people were there. And here’s the thing about the Costco shoppers: In addition to pushing their Costco shopping cart (which, as you know, is as big as my yellow bug), at least one of the people (because, as I have told you before, winter visitors travel in pairs) was driving an electric cart. That works out great if your goal is to block an entire Costco aisle, which apparently was, in fact, the goal. Scoooooooooooooooooore!

I must stop here for a minute to insert something important. One of my New Year’s resolutions is that I am going to be more generous in spirit and look at things in a more positive light. It seems to only have taken seven days for me to break that particular resolution. But here I go – I’m back on the positive-thinking horse.

As we left the store, I heard one of the people who stands at the door for, I don’t know, eight hours at a pop, singing her goodbyes to people as she checked their receipts. When I say singing, I don’t mean humming a tune such as My Favorite Things. I mean, instead of saying, “Thank you, have a good day,” she is singing those same words to a tune she makes up as she goes along. It’s like being in a Rogers and Hammerstein musical. Singing and dancing as part of a normal life activity. And, just like in a musical production, no one seems surprised.

“Oh Lordy,” I found myself saying to Bill. “She’s still working here.” Because I have vivid memories of her from last season.

And then I stopped myself, realizing that at that point I was only one day into my resolutions. And really, how can you be cranky about someone who is that cheerful?

I would like to tell you that we will NOT, under any circumstances, be at Costco on January 2, 3, 4, or 5, 2016, but the reality is we will. If for no other reason than after spending massive amounts of money over the Christmas holidays, that buck-fifty lunch of hot dog and diet coke is about all we can afford. It’s what many could afford if you check out this photo of the food court that day….

Perhaps, like the friendly Costco worker, I will sing for my lunch.

Sunday evening, Bill innocently asked me, “Would you like to watch a movie tonight?” I think the look of horror on my face surprised him. He may as well have asked me, “Would you like to go out tonight and feed baby kittens to the coyotes?”

After all, Sunday night was the Season 5 premiere of Downton Abbey. I had been waiting for 10 months. I wasn’t going to wait one day more.

The Arizona PBS station shows Downton Abbey one hour earlier than the Colorado PBS station. So I texted Jen that afternoon this message: Since I will see Downton Abbey before you, I will let you know if the Season 5 opening scene is Carson and Mrs. Hughes in bed together.

Crikey, she texted me back. It was good to see she was already getting into her British personna.

Four years ago I had never heard of Downton Abbey. Jen is the one who told me about it. “I think you and Bill would like it.”

She was half right. Bill is fascinated that I love it so much, but he simply isn’t one bit interested. And he learned his lesson before Season 3 started when he, reading from a news app on his IPad, offhandedly said, “Oh, I see a Matthew dies in a car crash in the last show of this Downton Abbey season.”

Oh no, he didn’t just tell me that!

Now he keeps his mouth shut should he learn any spoilers. Knowing about Matthew’s imminent death prior to the season even started ruined the season for me. It KILLED me knowing that all the romance was for nought.

Now, of course, if you haven’t heard of Downton Abbey, you must live in a yurt in the Himalayas. You probably don’t hum Pharrell Williams’ Happy in your sleep either.

Anyway, it looks to be a good year where we await the answer to some important questions….

Is this the season when Lord Grantham learns to drive a car?
Will Lady Grantham break with tradition and wear shorts to dinner?
Will Thomas find Jesus and spend his spare time in prayer instead of lurking on the stairs and sneaking up on Baxter, scaring the crap out of her?
Will Mr. Bates go a season without murdering someone?
Will the dowager Lady Violet resign her position on the Garden Committee to spend more time improving her hip hop dancing skills?
Will Edith find a husband ( oh, yeah, that might actually happen)?

All I can tell you is that it’s good to have Robert and Cora back in my living room.

We three kings of Orient are

Bearing gifts, we traverse afar.

Field and fountain, moor and mountain

Following yonder star.

I just celebrated my 60^th Christmas. And for the 60^th time, just over a week later, yesterday we bore witness to the arrival of the three kings who came to adore the Baby Jesus. Father told us in his homily that it likely took the wise men over a year to make their way to Bethlehem.

Whaaaaaaaaaat?

Now if I had been using my head, it would have registered before now that the wise men weren’t able to jump into their private jet with gold, frankincense and myrrh in their carry-ons, and get to the stable just in time to see the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger before the Holy Family took off for Nazareth. Nevertheless, the kings are always portrayed as kneeling in adoration before Jesus in the stable.

Perhaps I have been missing the point.

In the Catholic Mass, and perhaps services in other denominations as well, the readings sort of follow a theme. Yesterday’s theme wasn’t difficult to figure out – adoration. Up until the birth of Jesus, the Jews had lived in their little world awaiting the arrival of their savior who would undoubtedly be a powerful warrior who would make all of the various and sundry kings and pharaohs who had been persecuting the Jews for centuries pay for their evil ways.

And instead, they got this little baby, the son of a teenaged girl, too poor to afford a decent roof over the family’s head.  And so the Jews decided to keep waiting.

But in the meantime, the wise men, representing the world beyond the Jews, made their way to pay their respect and adoration. Whether they visited the family in Bethlehem the week after the baby’s birth or a year later, they paid their respects in place of us. They revealed the arrival of a savior to the entire world (which, admittedly, was quite small in those days).

And imagine the Jew’s consternation when, thirty-some years later, St. Paul told them that Jesus Christ was the savior for the Gentiles too, as he did in our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians. That, my friends, must have come as quite a shock to them after all they had gone through for centuries. “I wandered through the desert eating locusts, emptying sand out of my sandals, and sweating like a dog and you Johnny-Come-Latelys are also saved? That doesn’t quite work for me.”

Hard to blame them.

But since the theme of the readings was adoration, I was reminded that I must never forget to literally and figuratively fall on my knees in thanksgiving for the gift of life that God has given to me.

Oh come let us adore him.