After a week of busyness, nothing made me happier than sitting down in my recliner Sunday, putting my feet up, and watching football ALL DAY LONG.

Sometimes a tiara can help get you in the football spirit.

In our family, football is serious business. We are introduced to the sport sometime between taking our first breath and our initial bilirubin test. The first outfit depends on whether you are on the Arizona side of the family or the Colorado side of the family. Cardinals or Broncos?

Our love for football isn’t shocking since the Gloors grew up in Nebraska Cornhusker Country, where cars and trucks are red and your dresser holds statues of Jesus, Mary, and Bob Devaney. You grow up watching football. It’s as simple as that. And you teach your children well. This fact can be evidenced by this photo of my great nephew Noah as he carefully sets up his football helmets Sunday morning by game matchups. We won’t even talk about my great nephew Carter who can recite all of the teams’ stats by Sunday night.

My sister Jen says she feels her blood pressure go down upon hearing Carrie Underwood sing, “Hey Jack it’s a fact, the show’s back in town. Stadium’s rockin’, time to crank up the sound…. .”

I recall watching the movie Hoosiers the first time. Remember the scene with the long line of cars, all driving to watch the small high school basketball games? That’s the way it was in Columbus for the fans of the Scotus Central Catholic Shamrocks football team. Our high school almost always had a reasonably good football team – some years better than reasonably good. One of Scotus’ own, Joe Blahak, played for the undefeated national championship Husker teams in 1970 and 1971, and even played a few years in the NFL. The cars used to line up, waiting to park at Memorial Stadium in Columbus. There was often a line of cars making their way to a neighboring town for an “away” game.

With that as a foundation, imagine what it was like rooting for the Cornhuskers, especially back in the early 70s when the Big 8 ruled the college football world, and the national championship nearly always came down to either Oklahoma or Nebraska. Go Big Red.

When it came to the NFL, our dad was a Packers fan. I never really knew why, and I never asked him. (Kids, ask your parents questions now!) But I recently saw a map of NFL fans – what states root for what teams – and noticed that, while a large section of Nebraska roots for the Broncos, there is a little section – right smack where Columbus is located – that roots for the Packers. Interesting if somewhat puzzling.

My family – at least my Colorado family – are Bronco fans through and through. We all sat at the edge of our seats Sunday night as we watched our beloved team with our revered-second-only-to-John-Elway quarterback Peyton Manning almost let a 24 point lead slip through their fingers. Thankfully the clock ran out before the Colts got another chance at the ball. Final score, 31-24. I like blow-outs, thank you very much.

Don’t get me wrong. I am happy with any victory. The reality is, if I KNEW FOR A FACT that the Broncos would win by a meagre score of 2-0, that would be just fine with me. They key is, I have to know that in advance. I simply cannot take the pressure! Blowouts please Men!

But win or lose, here’s to the sounds of shoulder pad against shoulder pad, referees’ whistles, and John Gruden’s inane commentary. I just close my eyes when they dance in the end zone. And Bill and I concluded we don’t do nearly enough chest bumping (and don’t make that something x-rated).

I am ready for some football.

I would love to go back and travel the road not taken, if I knew at the end of it I’d find the same set of grandkids. – Robert Brault

I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog talking about how much I loved my grandparents – particularly my grandmother. My love for her has really inspired me to play a significant role in the lives of my grandkids because I want them to feel about me like I felt about Grammie.

These past couple of weeks when I have been lucky enough to spend so much time with my grandkids has caused me to think about why I believe grandparents are so important in a person’s – and particularly a child’s – life.

Perfect love does not come until the first grandchild. – Welsh proverb

My sister Bec recently told me her theory. She believes one of the most important gifts that a grandparent can give a grandchild is the gift of listening. Parents of young kids are so, so busy these days. They work, they volunteer, they grocery shop, they exercise, they worship, they haul their kids back and forth to soccer practice and basketball practice and ballet and gymnastics. They attend games and meets and recitals. They help with homework and practice spelling words. In between, they try to have a little time to spend with each other. So they listen the best that they can, but oftentimes it’s at the same time that they’re concentrating on cooking dinner or trying to finish an email that has to go to one of their coworkers by 8 o’clock the next morning.

So, theorizes my sister, we can listen – really listen – to what our grandkids tell us. It’s generally not going to be earth shattering or life changing. But oftentimes it’s going to be really, really funny, and terribly sweet.

“My friend is cray-cray,” Kaiya recently told me from the back seat of my car. Cray-cray. She’s 6.

“Where did you hear that word?” I asked her, figuring it was unlikely that she watches the Kardashians.

“From Barbie,” referring to a program that I think she watches on You Tube. Well, it’s better than

Dagny with a monster-sized donut (which she ate!).

the Kardashians, I guess. I have to confess that I laughed out loud.

But I also heard Dagny tell me she STINKS at spelling and she STINKS at math. “I stink at

everything,” she said disgustedly.

I told her that spelling and math might be difficult subjects for her but that is the reason she is going to school, and that both will get easier for her.

“And look how much you like science,” I said. “And you sang me a song that you wrote today, and it was very pretty. We all have different strengths and weaknesses.”

Few things are more delightful than grandchildren fighting over your lap. – Doug Larson

One of my favorite things about being a nana is that I can let the kids play with Play Doh or bubbles or help me cook and not have to worry about the mess. I don’t have to go to work tomorrow. I can clean my house. I don’t blame the parents a bit for not wanting to clean up such a mess. Let the kids make the mess at my house!

What children need most are the essentials that grandparents provide in abundance. They give unconditional love, kindness, patience, humor, comfort, lessons in life. And, most importantly, cookies. – Rudy Giuliani

Kaiya and Mylee helped me make apple crisp the other day. We picked the apples from my trees, and I showed them how my old-fashioned apple peeler works. They both had a turn at it.

“I didn’t know you had this,” Kaiya said with amazement, as though she knows about every single thing I own. Well, apparently she thinks she does.

There was cinnamon sugar and apple peelings and oatmeal all over my counters and floors when they finished, but they had some kind of fun.

As long as our children are willing to entrust us with their children, I think we can make a difference in all of their lives. God bless all grandparents!

My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was 60. She’s 97 now, and we don’t know where the hell she is. – Ellen DeGeneres

This past week Bill and I were the primary caregivers for Alastair, Dagny, and Magnolia, while their parents enjoyed time away. It went well, but as I’ve said before, parenting really should be left to the young. I, thankfully, managed to keep them all alive, got them to school on time each day with their backpacks and a lunch, picked them up on time, fed them, helped with homework, and got them to bed. Did I do it with ease and grace? Oh. Hell. No. But I had the time of my life!

Here are some photos that remind me that being a grandmother is the best job of my life….

Alastair

Dagny and Nana

Maggie Faith

And a bonus photo….

Cole Jonathan at 4 months.

Have a good weekend.

Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me. – Ruth, 1: 16-17

These beautiful words from the Old Testament Book of Ruth are often read at weddings. The thing that is interesting is that Ruth did not utter these words to Boaz, the man who would become her husband; instead, she uttered these words to her mother-in-law Naomi, the mother of her first husband who died. It is one of my favorite bible stories. Having a good mother-in-law is a gift from God.

There’s almost nothing good about divorce. I can tell you this from experience because I went through a divorce and it was the most difficult time of my life.

Having said this, I am compelled to add that I have been blessed to have not just one, but two amazing mothers-in-law. Both accepted me into their lives with open arms and for that, I am very grateful.

Sadly, my first mother-in-law passed away far too young from cancer, not long after David’s and my divorce.

In contrast, I want to tell you a bit about the 97-year-old woman who has been my mother-in-law for the past 22 years.

The first thing you need to know about her is that her goodness comes from her deep faith in God, and she projects her faith every day in her behavior. Here’s an example.

I never knew Bill’s dad without the Alzheimer’s disease that eventually took his life. He passed away a few years after Bill and I married. We were in Chicago, along with all of his family, helping make the arrangements for the funeral service. I remember Wilma giving the minister a rundown on her family.

“I have four children,” she said, “and nine grandchildren.”

I began counting the grandkids silently. His sister had three, Bill had three, and his brother had two.

“Wilma,” I said oh-so-helpfully, “you only have eight grandchildren.” I counted them out for her.

“No, I have nine,” she said. “You forgot to add your son Courtney.”

Seriously, I tear up even as I write those words. That meant so much to me that she included Court, whom she barely knew, as one of her grandkids without a second thought. I have tried – I hope successfully – to emulate her sentiments as I’ve loved all of my grandkids, no matter what the relationship is on paper.

As I’ve listened to her stories over the years, I’ve learned a lot about this exceptional woman. She has always tackled life head on without fear. She grew up in a small town in Indiana, but when her life took her to Chicago, she didn’t flinch; she learned to drive in Chicago. She was accepted at a southern university to study music (Kentucky?), but turned that down to attend Purdue because she couldn’t imagine life that far away from her family.

She met her husband while working as a secretary at U.S. Steel. The handsome man noticed her and wanted to ask her out, but he was too shy. So he had a buddy tell her that Rex McLain wanted to take her out on a date.

“Well if Rex McLain wants to take me out on a date,” she said firmly, “then he can ask me himself.”

He did, and they were married a few months later. The marriage would last 50-some years until his death, and result in four wonderful and very successful children.

As you would expect, when someone lives to be 97, the course isn’t always smooth. Her kids didn’t necessarily take paths she anticipated. Her grandkids provided her their share of worries. But in the end, she accepted everything – and all of them – with typical grace and love.

When I spend time with her, it is easier to understand my own husband. Stubborn. Smart. Kind. Honest. Loyal.

Don’t try to tell her what to do, because the more you push her one way, the more likely she is to go the other. Just like Bill. That’s why it was her idea to sell the family home a few years after Rex passed away and move to a senior retirement community. Everyone gave a great sigh of relief, but it would have been useless to try to talk her into that situation before she was ready. She knew exactly what she was doing.

She is beautiful at 97, just as she has been her whole life.  But what makes her beautiful comes from deep within her. She has a beautiful soul.

And she would have my hide if she knew I wrote this tribute, so please don’t tell her!

This year has been the year for summer road trips. For me, that’s a good thing. I do enjoy a trip down I-80.

We spent the past week in Chicago visiting Bill’s mom. We never mind the drive because, just like we do when we drive to Phoenix, we do it in two days instead of one. Denver to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and then on to Chicago the next day. By driving, we have access to our car and don’t have to deal with a rental car.

But best of all, we get to enjoy the interesting, and almost always funny, things that happen along the way.

Here is some of what we experienced this past week, both on the road and while in Chicago…..

The first day, we noticed an inordinate number of Corvettes. By time we had reached Kearney, Nebraska, we had probably seen something like 70 or 80 Corvettes. We began speculating as to why we saw so many. Clearly it couldn’t be accidental.

We stopped at a rest stop somewhere near York, Nebraska, and pulled up next to three Corvettes. I couldn’t resist, and asked one of the owners why we were seeing so many Corvettes on I-80.

He and his wife were more than happy to explain.

“We are all driving to Bowling Green, Kentucky, where these cars were manufactured,” they told us. “There will be somewhere around 7,000 Corvettes there this weekend to enjoy the festivities the plant is providing.”

They also told us that many of the drivers were going to stop in Lincoln, Nebraska, to spend the night. This information caused Bill McLain to exit at Lincoln in order to find the hotel at which many, many Corvettes would be parked. Though we gave it the ol’ college try, we were unable to find the hotel.

Still, here is a photo of the three cars at the rest stop….

Our daughter and her family joined us in Chicago, and 5-year-old Joseph and 2-year-old Micah spent quality time with their great grandmother….

One of the things Bill’s 97-year-old mom was eager to do during our visit was show me the new Meijer’s store near her house. Meijer’s is a midwestern grocery chain that offers enormous varieties of almost everything. So, if you’re looking for bacon, instead of four or five brands, you will find 20 or 30….

The Meijer’s store we visited was even larger than the one at which we had shopped previously. I seriously am not sure I’ve ever visited a larger grocery store. I would call it a Super Walmart on steroids.

For example, the Hostess display offered many choices….

As you can imagine, Joseph was delighted with the Lego offerings….

The sheer number of EVERYTHING made me laugh.

On our way back home, we stopped at what is literally the world’s largest truck stop — the Iowa 80 Truck Stop. It is seriously enormous. In addition to many fast food restaurants and an inordinate number of things that truckers simply can’t live without — which apparently includes All Things Chrome — there are at least three semi-trucks located INSIDE THE STORE. Now that’s a big truck stop. We stop almost every time.

This time, Bill pulled a Diet Coke from the refrigerated case, and this is what what he found on the bottle as part of their new advertising campaign….

What are the chances of that?

Next road trip? Phoenix at the end of October.

Everyone has heard some version of the song referred to in the title of this blog post. Literally translated, it means “my sunshine.”

I wanted to sing this song at the top of my lungs the other day as Bill and I wandered through one of the most amazing and fabulous places I have ever visited – Eataly. It felt like my sunshine.

Before I tell you about my amazing day in a place as close to Italy as possible without getting on an airplane and flying for seven or eight hours in a seat that only reclines a tenth of an inch, I have to tell you a bit about my love affair with Lidia Bastianich.

She is known in our family simply as Lidia, similar to Madonna or Cher or Bono. If I mention Lidia, I don’t have to explain who I mean. She has had a variety of cooking shows on PBS for many years, and has about a million cookbooks, all of which I own. I like her obvious love of food and simple cooking and preparing a meal for your family. My ideals about cooking imitate hers.

While she has restaurants around the United States, she lives in New York City and her first restaurants were there. And a couple of years ago, along with another famous chef – Mario Batali – and her son Joe Bastianich, she founded a food market – and I use that term loosely in this case – called Eataly.

Jen and Bec visited New York City’s Eataly recently during their trip, and I was very envious. I looked on line to get a little more information, and was delighted – simply thrilled in fact – to learn that there is an Eataly in downtown Chicago with an even bigger footprint than the one in NYC.

“Please please please?” I begged Bill. “Can we take one day out of our visit to your mom’s to go to Eataly?”

He agreed without a second thought.

I told you yesterday about our fun day in general terms. But we literally spent the entire afternoon in this amazing, well, I don’t even know quite what to call it. It is an Italian food  market, but there are places to eat and an amazing wine store featuring wines from all the regions of Italy.

In fact, one of the most amazing things about this market is that it featured foodstuffs from all over Italy. For example, the olive oils were divided into all of the various Italian regions – Umbia, Tuscany, Sicily, and so forth. There were literally shelves of olive oils…..

The cheese selection nearly took my breath away…

Here is Eataly’s selection of JUST BLEU CHEESES….

Bill and I have been lucky enough in our lives to spend considerable amount of time in Italy, and while I love all things American, I miss a few things that I think are difficult to find in the United States. Or at least in Denver. One of these is a really true espresso macchiato. Most coffee places offer a macchiato that really is nothing more than a latte. An Italian macchiato is simple and divine. Guess what? They offered it at Eataly….

All of the breads are baked in a wood-burning oven….

We wandered around and looked at the selections of produce and cheeses and meats and seafood and canned goods and were swept back to our days in Italy. With such a selection of foods, it took us considerable time to decide what to eat. We elected instead of going to the sit-down café where they bring food to you, we would go to one of the various stations where you could buy meat or cheese or pizza and make your own lunch. So we ordered a selection of salumi e formaggi, which they served on a wooden peel with bread and olive oil. Ah YUM!

Needless to say, it was a day I will never forget.  Thanks Lidia. I will come again as soon as I can, and that’s a fact.

O sole mio!

Warning. Hillbilly alert!

Despite having married a man from Chicago, and despite making numerous trips over the past 22 years to the Windy City to visit this man’s mother, I have only been to downtown Chicago once — on a business trip.

We visited her once again last week, and elected this time to venture into the city. I truly felt like Granny Clampett — from the moment we boarded the train until we set our feet back down in suburban Mokena six hours later.

It’s not like I live in Podunk, North Dakota. I live in a major metropolitan area, after all. Denver might not have two baseball teams, commuter trains, an El, and subways, but we do have Casa Bonita and the Coors Brewery.

Nevertheless, I felt like a hillbilly all the same. I think Bill wanted to walk half a block behind me as I gawked up at the tall buildings and pointed my camera at something about every 10 seconds.

We boarded at the train station nearest his mom’s house, in a southernmost suburban middle- to upper-class community in the morning. As we headed towards the city, we passed through industrial areas, areas with huge houses, and areas that seemed shockingly poor as we neared downtown. We went past Bill’s high school, were very close to the house in which he spent his formative years, sailed past Comiskey Park (now, sadly, called U.S. Cellular Field), and as we neared the city, I spotted Sears Tower (which, again sadly, has the new name of Willis Tower. Hmpfff.) and began to get very excited.

We disembarked the train, and the first thing I noticed was that Bill became a Chicagoan almost immediately. By that I mean he began to walk fast and told me I had to do the same thing.

“You’ll get run down if you don’t,” he maintained. It was rush hour, so he might have been right. I walked fast.

As we walked, he would point out landmarks and buildings in which he had worked. After the first three or four buildings, I asked him, “How many jobs have you had?” Seriously, he pointed out building after building. I had no idea!

The city is remarkable, but one of my favorite things was seeing all of the interesting signage and restaurants we passed. Who knew that the Weber Grill company, which is of course located in Chicago, actually has a restaurant? Apparently all of their food is cooked on Weber grills.

And Harry Carey, of Chicago Cubs fame, has several restaurants in the Chicago area. Their landmark restaurant is downtown with the cutest signage ever….

I found this story of Bill’s to be absolutely amazing. He pointed out this famous restaurant…..

….and told me when he was a lawyer at a big-time downtown law firm, he used to eat lunch at what they called the Men’s Stand-up Grill. Seriously, men only! Can you imagine? And they would literally eat their hamburgers standing up at a table. Serves them right for not allowing women!

Our trip downtown actually had an express purpose, about which I will write tomorrow. Here’s a hint….

Bill and I are visiting his mother in Chicago. The other day we went to Bill’s favorite pizza restaurant (and believe me, there are a lot from which to choose). The young woman who was our server came to take our order.

“A garbage salad,” I said, which is a wonderful, but HUGE salad that is plenty for three or four. “And a large sausage thin-crust pizza.”

I, of course, was ordering for both of us, knowing there would actually be enough to take some home to Bill’s mom.

“Very good,” said our server pleasantly. “And what would you like, Sir?”

If what I ordered is considered a single portion, it’s no wonder I see so many overweight people as I look around!

It was delicious, and plenty for all of us! By the way, you can see how big the pizza is if you look at the wine glass next to it.

Have a great weekend.