Like Art Linkletter (and if you’re not a Baby Boomer, you may have to look that up), I think kids say the darndest things. As nana to 10 ranging in age from 20 down to 5 months, I hear my share. Of course if the older kids said some of the things the younger kids say, it wouldn’t be nearly as funny.

And speaking of funny things, 5-year-old Joseph — smarter than any whip I’ve ever known — has apparently latched on to that very phrase — “speaking of….”, and says it often. Recently, for example, out of the blue, says Joseph, “Speaking of syrup, I LOVE maple syrup.” They, of course, HADN’T been speaking of maple syrup, but whatevah.

When I told his papa, Bill said, “Well, at least he lives in the right place for maple syrup.”

Joseph, of course, lives in Vermont.

Speaking of weekends, have a great one.

I’m almost embarrassed to write this review because I’m pretty sure I’m the only person alive on Planet Earth who hadn’t read any of the Harry Potter books before now. Nevertheless, I feel the need to write this review to say that I enjoyed Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone — the first in the Harry Potter series — very much.

I have mentioned before that I was simply being stubborn. I got my dander up because of all of the hoopla surrounding the books and subsequent movies and swore I would never read a single book in the series. People, however, kept telling me that I was only hurting myself by not reading the wonderful stories. My daughter-in-law attributes her kids’ love of reading to J.K. Rowling’s wonderful books.

As I read the story, I could easily imagine how delightful it would be to read the words to young kids’ listening ears. The tale is absolutely magical.

Harry is a wizard, the son of wizard parents whom he never knew since they died when he was a baby – killed by “the one who can’t be named”. Harry was brought up by the sister and brother-in-law of his mother, and they are muggles. Muggles are what wizards call non-wizards. But not only are they muggles, they are despicable people who care nothing for their ward.

At age 11, he learns he is a wizard and after a series of misadventures, begins attending Hogwarts School, the training and educational platform for wizards such as himself. Through the course of his first year at school, he meets a variety of interesting characters and makes several very good friends.

I won’t go into details, but I can only wish that I had Rowling’s astounding imagination. The tale is full of unicorns and trolls and witches and warlocks, all in a traditional setting of a school. The story is fun and grabs and keeps the readers’ attention, even if the reader is almost 61 years old.

Deciding to go all-in, I borrowed the movie from our library and enjoyed that as well.

I’m not sure that I will find it necessary to read all of the books because THERE ARE SO MANY BOOKS TO BE READ! I might, however, watch the movies, because it seemed as if at least the first movie followed the book very closely.

If there is one amongst you who hasn’t read the book, or even more importantly, introduced the books to your kids, do so now!

Buy The Sorcerer’s Stone at Amazon here.

Buy The Sorcerer’s Stone at Barnes and Noble here.

Buy The Sorcerer’s Stone at Tattered Cover here.

The other day at the grocery store, a pretty bouquet of fall-colored mums called my name. I purchased them, brought them home, put them in a pretty vase, and set them on my kitchen table.

Suddenly, I remembered that somewhere deep in the bowels of my linen closet, I had an autumn-themed table runner. I opened the closet door, and dug around like a ground squirrel digging for acorns.

Voila! I found the table runner and placed it underneath the flowers on my table.

And there you have it, Folks. My house is decorated for fall. Sad, isn’t it?

I’ve never been very good at decorating. I have had the same furniture for over 20 years. My carpets are sad. Bill brought our art into the marriage. My walls are the same color they’ve been since we moved into this house.

I think about decorating, but I simply don’t know how to take that next step.

Both of my sisters lovingly decorate their houses for every season and every holiday. Bec, for example, has a haunted house that she puts out each Halloween and an Easter egg tree. She changes her door wreathes for the seasons. Someone who had been in a coma for 25 years could wake up in Jen’s house and know exactly what month it is by simply looking at her seasonal decorations.

What happened to me?

I called Jen the day I jammed the flowers into the vase and placed them on a runner bearing scarecrows and mallard ducks and asked her, “Did Mom decorate her house for the seasons the way you and Beckie do?”

She didn’t think so, nor do I.

Mom’s house was always very pretty. She had simple taste and her house reflected that taste. Better taste than I, I might add. But I don’t think she put up Halloween or Thanksgiving or Easter or Columbus Day decorations. (I’ve told my sisters I think the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria decorations are a bit much.)

Now Christmas decorations – that is a different story. In fact, Jen is pretty sure that unbeknownst to her or any of us, Mom invented the Elf-on-a-Shelf phenom. It’s true she always had elves peeking out of evergreen throughout her house. The little son-of-a-guns never brought us gifts, however.

And I will admit to you that I, too, decorate for Christmas, or at least I used to. I still put up my angel tree – the grandkids help me place the angels on the tree each year on the day after Thanksgiving. I used to put up three trees – the angel tree in the living room, the tree bearing all of the ornaments I have collected throughout the years in the family room, and a little tree with cooking ornaments in the kitchen.

In addition, I still put up a few straggling Christmas decorations, but the problem is that we leave for Arizona on Christmas day, and I simply don’t want to come back in May to Santa Claus. That means I am, like the Grinch, taking down Christmas on Christmas Eve.  It seems easier to just not put them up.

See, I am the Grinch. I’ll bet he – even after his heart grew three sizes that day – doesn’t put up Flag Day decorations.

There’s only one holiday for which I decorate annually, come hell or high water – June 19 – National Martini Day.

Hey, hey, easy kids. Everybody in the car. Boat leaves in two minutes… or perhaps you don’t want to see the second largest ball of twine on the face of the earth, which is only four short hours away? – Clark Griswold, National Lampoon’s Vacation

As far back as I can remember, Mom and Dad would load up the car, pack a picnic for along the way, and head out with the four of us on a summer vacation. I have memories of Lake Okaboji, IA, visits to relatives in Iowa and Minnesota, and letting the goats chew on my shoelaces at the North Pole in Colorado Springs.

But the bulk of our vacations were spent in Estes Park, Colorado.

It was no easy task for Dad to take a week off from the bakery. He felt he couldn’t close down because so much of his business was wholesale. He needed to provide product for his wholesale customers or they would go elsewhere. The lament of the small businessman. So he would bake ahead.

And bake and bake and bake.

Then he and Mom would make arrangements so that the store could open daily and deliveries could be made. They must have been flat-out exhausted by time we backed out of our driveway to head out of town.

Many times, we would leave very early in the morning. It was almost impossible to sleep the night before because I was so excited. But I would pretend to be asleep when Dad would lift me out of bed and carry me to the car, where he would lay me down on the floor, my pillow on the hump. My siblings would be laid out accordingly – one more on the other side of the floor and two on the seat. Our children are cringing about now, thinking about us unattached to seatbelts, ready to be flung into space should the car crash. I wouldn’t do it now, but we didn’t give it a second thought in those days. The car didn’t even have seatbelts.

If we left in the afternoon rather than morning, we would generally have an overnight somewhere along the route. I recall an overnight stay in Sterling, Colorado, where Dad and I splashed in the motel pool along with another motel resident – an attractive female. As I write these words, I’m having a flashback to the classic Chevy Chase movie National Lampoon’s Vacation, in which Clark Griswold splashes in the pool with Christie Brinkley. I assure you, it wasn’t like that. Of course, I was only 6 or 7 at the time, so what did I know about flirtation? Still, it isn’t easy to flirt when you are armed with a 6-year-old. By the way, the rest of his life, Dad swears he taught me to swim that day. If he did, it didn’t stick. I sink.

Anyhoo, at some point after we had been going to Estes Park for many years, my mother spotted the Ponderosa Lodge along the Fall River near the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park. Somehow she discovered that along with the lodge, there were a couple of stand-alone cabins, one of which would sleep our whole family. From that point on, that’s where we stayed each year. At that time it was green, and we cleverly referred to it as “the green cabin.” As in, “Can we get reservations for the week of July 12 in the green cabin?”

Oh, did we have fun. Dad would cook breakfast and dinner on the grill on the patio. We would take lunch up into the park each afternoon. We would enjoy the park until mid-afternoon, when we would come back to town where my brother Dave could begin his obsessive and ceaseless BEGGING Dad to take him on the go-carts.

When Jen and I were in Estes Park this past weekend staying at the Ponderosa, I hiked up to the green cabin, which is no longer green. Instead, it is painted a rustic-looking red….

Here is the view from the cabin….

One more story: Behind the cabin, there is a small mountain. One afternoon when I was probably 7 and Bec was 12, we decided to hike up that mountain. We made it up to the top without a problem. But as we turned to come back down, we suddenly realized that the mountain was actually very steep. Bec was always a really good big sister and took care of all of us. I recall vividly that she said to me, “See that tree down there? I’m going to walk down to that tree. When I’m there, you can start down and I will catch you if you fall.”

Mountain behind the cabin on which Bec and I hiked.

Well, she started off, but before you could say Yodel-a-hee-hoo, she lost control and began running down the mountain. She grabbed a tree and saved herself. In the meantime, I walked down the mountain to her without a single problem.

Thanks anyway, Sis.

He was a famous trumpet man from old Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He’s in the army now, a-blowin’ reveille

He’s the boogie-woogie bugle boy of Company B

 Well, of course the bugling that Jen and I listened to this past weekend wasn’t boogie-woogie, but we wouldn’t have enjoyed it more if it were.

We went – along with what seemed like most of the residents of the Front Range – to Rocky Mountain National Park to hear the elk bugle. Man, did we EVER get a show. You would have thought they were playing back-up to Louie Armstrong.

Jen and I try to go every year, but missed last year. We also try to hike every year at least once, but we hadn’t yet had a chance. We looked at the weather forecast and made our plans accordingly. It was a perfect fall day.

For those of you not familiar with elk bugling, it’s the call that the bull elk give the cows as they gather their herd in preparation for mating season. Think of it as a singles bar for elk. The bugling generally begins at dusk and goes on until dark. Whatever it is the bulls are saying with the ethereal sound, it works. The herds were large, likely because we are reaching the end of the season.

Here is a sample so you can get an idea of just how ethereal the sound is….

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYzWmKlZtrU

We didn’t get to the Cub Lake trailhead until 2:30 or so, but the good news was that many of the hikers were done for the day, so there was parking available. There were also herds of elk all around us. They come down from the high country this time of year to mate. I don’t know why they don’t mate high in the mountains. Ask them.

Our hiking trail hugged a meadow filled with elk. We literally spent the entire afternoon and evening with a single herd of elk, led by one big bull. And he didn’t bother to wait until dusk to begin his performance. He bugled all afternoon and into the evening. His herd of cows were rolling their eyes.

As we left to go back to our hotel room, we drove past several other herds of elk. As we passed a particularly large herd, Jen asked me, “When do they start, er, dating?” I happened to glance over at the herd, and quickly replied, “Ah, I would say dating has begun.” I didn’t shoot a photo of that particular experience as I feel a little privacy was in order.

One of the best things about leaf and elk peeping is the people watching. There were probably 100 people just at the spot where we plopped ourselves post hike. Some settle in for the evening….

A large gathering brought an entire picnic to enjoy as they listened to the elk performance.

All in all, it was a wonderful day, and I want to share some of my photos with you.

This photo will give you an idea of the numbers of tourists. Crazy.

Our hike took us around this meadow, so we listened and watched this herd for quite some time.

Our granddaughter Addie is going all-in when it comes to taking her new middle school by storm. Despite the fact that she only played one season of volleyball, she elected to try out for the Hamilton Middle School volleyball team. Generally the team consists of mostly 7th and 8th graders.

She made the team!

But she didn’t stop there. She tried out for the Hamilton Show Choir (which, after doing a bit of research, I have decided is similar to the television show Glee, but without Sue Sylvester and the adult situations!). Singing and dancing are involved. She made the first call-back, and then learned yesterday that she was accepted to one of the Show Choir groups that consist of 6th and 7th graders.

We’re very proud of her. I know absolutely nothing about volleyball, but I expect I will learn over the next few months. As busy as she’s going to be, it might be the only way we get to see her!

Soon she will be president of the Student Council. Mark my words….

Have a great weekend.

Father Tim has returned to Mitford, and his loving flock (that would be all of us who ADORE Father Tim) can say together, “THANKS BE TO GOD!”

Father Tim is, of course, the beloved Episcopalian priest from the small fictional town of Mitford, North Carolina, brought to us by author extraordinaire Jan Karon. Karon has written 11 novels starring Father Tim and his beautiful wisteria-smelling wife Cynthia, as well as several children books, cookbooks, short stories – all involving Father Tim. The past few, however, haven’t taken place in Mitford.

Though it was fun to see Father Tim and Cynthia in different roles and various environments, I, for one, missed the people of Mitford. In Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good, Karen takes us back to Mitford.

Oh, we all know Mitford is too good to be true. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t stop us from wanting to move there. We all want to shop at Avis’ grocery store. We want Puny to fry us some chicken. We want to buy our books at Happy Endings. Now, we want to have “fun that is funny” with Coot Hendrick as he learns to read.

It isn’t unusual for me to read a book that I simply can’t put down. Perhaps the storyline is so compelling that I just MUST read the next chapter. Maybe it’s such a great mystery that I can’t wait to see how it ends.

Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good , just like all of the Mitford books, is different. I read them a little at a time because I can’t bear that they will end. It’s as simple as that. They are just that beautiful.

Karon’s novels never have a single storyline, beyond the power of prayer and the grace of God. Instead, there are several story lines going on at the same time that conclude, well, at the end of the book. In Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good, Father Tim, now retired from the priesthood, must decide if he’s ready to return to the pulpit. But he has plenty of other things going on – he is working a couple of days a week at Happy Endings because its proprietor is sick, Dooley is trying to make a decision about his relationship with Lace, and, much to Father Tim’s dismay, he has been voted Leading Citizen by the citizens of Mitford – an honor he doesn’t relish.

The story is laugh-out-loud funny in oh-so-many-places. For example, the beauty salon has added tanning services, and one by one, the citizens of Mitford show up at Father Tim’s door boasting various shades of tan. And then there are the constant typographical errors that show up in the Mitford Muse. So, so funny.

But mostly, Father Tim reminds me in each book about the importance of prayer in our lives. Don’t let this make you reluctant to read these wonderful novels. He doesn’t preach; he simply believes. I envy the ability to pray as Karon makes Father Tim pray. I have to remind myself over and over that God doesn’t need my words to be fancy; simple words would do. As Father Tim noted, it’s fine to simply say “Jesus.”

Do yourself a favor and pay a visit to Mitford. You will be happy that you did.

Buy Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good at Amazon here.

Buy Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good at Barnes and Noble here.

Buy Somewhere Safe With Somebody Good at Tattered Cover here.