My mom, who, despite how much I loved her, I would have to describe as a glass-half-empty kind of gal, used to use the Fourth of July as her opportunity to remind us, “Well kids, it’s the July 4th; the summer is half over.”

Thanks Mom.

So, though Mom’s words are weighing in the back of my mind, I enjoyed my July 4th holiday, and even the week leading up to it.

For example, last week, I invited my grandson Alastair to go geocaching with me, and he accepted with enthusiasm. Geocaching, remember, is the sort of treasure hunt where you find hidden containers using a GPS device. He had first learned about it in Cub Scounts. He is a good geocaching companion.

We were at a nearby park looking for a geocache in which the description includes a warning that “you really need to be a spider monkey to retrieve this one.” Well, our spider monkey Dagny was in Montana, but nevertheless, we forded on in our effort to spot this geocache.

And we did. Our GPS took us to the base of a very tall tree. I looked up. And up. And up. At the very tippy top of the tree I spotted something blue hanging there.

“There is is, Alastair,” I shouted. “Darn, I wish Dagny was here. She could climb up and retrieve it.”

“I can do it, Nana,’ Alastair assured me. And he started up. In his flip flops. Soon he was pretty much a speck in the tree, but he indeed did retrieve the cache. Since I didn’t want him trying to open it up while dangling from high in a tree, I told him, “Just touch it, and that’ll be good enough for us.” He did.

We celebrated the Fourth of July in pretty good fashion. Bill and Bec and I got a good, early start to Jen’s house in Fort Collins where she was hosting a burger cook-off later in the day. We stopped at Johnson’s Corner, a locally-famous truck stop whose owners purportedly threw the key into the cement when they began building the place early last century, and the doors have not been locked since. We enjoyed a big breakfast, which included one of their “world-famous” cinnamon rolls. Yesterday’s roll was a feast for the senses….

I hope you all had a good holiday, and have a great weekend.

Have a happy and safe 4th of July!

By Bob B.

The past few weeks since my last entry have had me driving a little bit of everywhere we go, from North Dakota to Kansas and southwest Minnesota to northeast Colorado. Although there have been some tremendous storms with tornados, including the virtual wipeout of Pilger, NE, I have continued to be extremely fortunate in being able to avoid the real bad stuff. I keep telling those that have been praying for my safety to keep it up. The prayers are working, thank God.

I have been along the edges of several storm fronts which have produced some spectacular views. Tremendous lightning displays off in the distance across the open prairie, and up close…real close, provide magnificent entertainment. Rains falling in the distance can look like isolated pillars of gray stretching down to the ground from a single dark cloud. Catching up to a storm front on the back side of it looks like an approach to a wall of water, and then smashing into it. And of course, there is your basic, all-encompassing down pour complete with lightning bolts and sheet lightning. All of them are cool in their own way, as long as you maintain safe driving habits. I cannot believe the number of people that enter a storm situation and refuse to turn on their headlights so others can see them.

Turtles of all kinds are wrapping up their migrations. Box turtles, painted turtles, tortoises, and snapping turtles by the gazillions have been trying to cross highways and interstates throughout the Midwest. Seems like most make it, but lots don’t. Then there are the kind-hearted souls that pull off the road and park to get out and carry the reptile to safety. One such elderly man (older than me) made me wonder. I was passing him just as he was getting out of his car to provide assistance to a snapping turtle. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill snapper. This one was about the diameter of a garbage can lid. It must have weighed 40-50 pounds. It had a head about the size of a fist and a neck about as long as your forearm. In my side view mirror I saw the man bending over, arms outstretched as if to grab either side of the snapper’s shell to pick it up. As I drove over the crest of a hill and the sight disappeared from my view, I wondered how many fingers did that man lose.

Another big snapping turtle was in the road as I approached and was right in the middle of my lane. He wasn’t moving, just sitting there within his shell, either dead or sleeping. I could not move to the left or right to avoid the critter so I centered it between my wheels as I blew over the top of him at 62 mph. It must have woke him because when I looked back in my side mirror, he was already off the road shoulder entering the weeds. That turtle must have broken into a full speed sprint!

Last week I was driving I-90 going east out of Rapid City, SD. It was a warm, sunny afternoon – a beautiful day in ranch country. Along side the road to my right down a hill was a farm pond about the size of a football field. Anchored in the middle of the pond was a red and white (Husker fan?), about 20 foot, inboard engine Four Winns type speedboat, complete with bikini babe catching rays on the aft deck. It was a surrealistic sight. I almost stopped to see if I could apply more suntan lotion. Almost.

Things have been good on the road. I am home almost 2 full days most weeks, although the days are usually not the same each week. Home long enough to get the lawn mowed, stretch out, and not get into too much trouble.

That’s about it for now. Be safe, maintain a safe distance between you and the next guy, and by all means use those turn signals. Till next time….

The 4^th of July is the celebration of our country’s independence from Great Britain. I’m only telling you this so that you know that I was never one of the ditzy people interviewed by Jay Leno who claimed that the reason we celebrate the 4^th of July is it’s the anniversary of the day Keith Richards snorted his father’s cremated remains. I know my history and I’m a patriot.

I also know that the 4^th of July is the most popular U.S. holiday for barbecues. Seventy-one percent of us will be firing up the grill on Friday and cooking some sort of meat product in honor of our forefathers signing the Declaration of Independence. Never mind that it was actually signed somewhere around August 2. Does the 2^nd of August sound like any kind of meat-cooking, firework-shooting celebratory day? Nope.

To enhance your barbecuing pleasure, I am offering two quick picks that will make your 4^th of July celebration even better.

First, the other day when I talked about grilling, I mentioned Chicago-style Montreal seasoning. I spoke somewhat in error. What I currently love throwing on my chops is Weber’s Chicago Steak Seasoning. It resembles Montreal seasoning, but with the kick of red pepper flakes as part of the seasoning. In fact, the ingredients list includes simply sea salt, garlic, spices, onion, red bell pepper and red pepper. It has a zip to it that works great on grilled meat. Yum.

See? Almost empty.

Second, I don’t purport to be an expert on margaritas. That honor would go to Jen in our family. She is a connoisseur on margaritas of all sorts. But once in a while, I’m in the mood for a margarita, especially when I’m dining Mexican or eating spicy barbecue. A friend recently told me about Coyote Gold Margarita Mix, and it’s a winner. The ingredients are all natural, so the sweet and sour isn’t that cloyingly sweet artificial flavor. It’s premixed, so you just salt the rim of a glass, fill it up with ice, pour the mix and garnish with a lime. It’s 37 proof, so drink with care! Salud.

And Kids? Don’t snort your dad….

Keith Richards

 “Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.” – L.M. Montgomery

It’s funny how our senses can trigger memories.

Now is the time of year that linden trees are in bloom. The flowers are very fragrant, and there are many linden trees in our neighborhood. Yesterday morning, as Bill and I did our power walk outside instead of the gym, we walked under a blooming linden tree and the smell wafted down to my nostrals. Suddenly I was 7 again.

We had linden trees at our house when I was growing up – a pretty one in the front yard and a less pretty, kind of scrawny one in the back yard. I always thought – and still do today – that linden trees are one of the prettiest trees created by God. To me, they are the perfect shape – a bit like the shape of a tree that a child would draw (except my trees were always round and had apples). We talk now and again about planting a linden tree, and perhaps will if our honey locust ever betrays us and dies. (God forbid, because that’s the tree on which hangs the highly-popular swing enjoyed by every single one of our grandchildren at some point (except for Baby Cole; his day will come).

Every year about this time, my Grammie would come over to our house and gather linden tree blossoms. She would take those blossoms home to the apartment above the bakery where she and Gramps lived. The apartment had two bedrooms – the one they shared and a spare in which there was a double bed with a metal frame that was the squeakiest bed ever. Even now, I can hear the squeak of the bed as we sat on it. Bill said old box springs had fewer springs than today’s version, and that’s why our grandmothers’ beds squeaked. That’s the bed where any and all of the grandkids slept if they spent the night.

Grammie would lay out a big sheet of plastic on that bed and lay the blossoms all over the plastic. The smell enveloped the room. Over the next few weeks, the blossoms would dry out. Eventually, they were ready to be used to make the only non-alcoholic beverage my grandmother ever had in her house – her iced linden tea. I don’t recall where she stored the tea leaves, but she kept the tea in her refrigerator in a big jar.

Opinions were mixed about the tea. Bec and I didn’t like it; Jen and Dave did. I can’t recall what Bec and I drank instead as Grammie seriously had nothing else to offer. Water, I guess, or choked down the tea. She served it ice cold and unsweetened. It was probably very good for us – well, for Jen and Dave since Bec and I eschewed it.

I wonder if she had learned to make linden tea back in Switzerland, or if it was something she only started doing after moving to the United States. I wish I had asked her.

Thinking about the tea led me to recall that Gramps used to go out to the country each year late in the summer and gather wild grapes to make his wine. He died at a very young age and I was never able to taste his wine, but I asked my dad one time if the wine was any good. Sometimes yes; sometimes no, according to Dad. I remember that there were big wooden wine barrels in the basement (the enormously SCARY basement) of the bakery in which he would store his wine. Dad sold the wine barrels when he sold the bakery, I would imagine. Probably full of vinegary wine no doubt. He also threw all of the monsters that lived in that basement into the deal.

And while I was walking down memory lane, I was recalling more about Grammie’s spare bedroom. There was a closet in that room in which she probably kept her off-season clothes, etc. But in that closet there was also the four bridesmaid dresses from the wedding of my Aunt Venie to my Uncle Dale. The dresses were tea length with a sweetheart neckline. I think they also included a short jacket. They were each a different pastel color. I can’t remember what colors they all were, except that my mother – who had been a bridesmaid – wore a really pretty shade of olive green. The dresses had a shirt waist with a very full satin skirt with a matching tulle overlay. The dresses were lined up together in that closet (I wonder how Grammie ended up with them?). My sisters and I were not allowed to put them on, but we were allowed to look at them and touch them. I would run my fingers over the tulle skirts and bury my face in the rough material. I seriously can remember how they felt to this day. I can even smell the musty odor.

Okay Friends. I’m back and 60 years old again. But I sure did enjoy that trip down Memory Lane. What would we do without our memories? I hope I am creating some of the same kind of grand memories for my grandkids.

What are some smells or sights that trigger memories in your life?

I spent Thursday with Kaiya and Mylee. Here are three grown-up things that came out of 5-year-old Kaiya’s mouth that day that made me smile….

First, I agreed to take Kaiya to her gymnastics class that evening and drop the two girls back at home afterwards. I had never been to her class, so her mom was trying to explain to me how to get there. Our conversation went something like this:

“It’s just off of University. Drive past Arapahoe and then turn into the parking lot.”

“Which direction are you driving down University?”

“Drive north. It’s on the other side of Arapahoe.”

“The other side coming from your house or my house?”

Finally, Kaiya could take no more.

“Why don’t you just use your smart phone?” she asked, somewhat wearily.

Second, as we were driving to the zoo, I asked both girls what they want for their upcoming birthdays. Kaiya said she wants mermaid fins.

“Mermaid fins?” I said. “Where did you see them?”

“On YouTube,” she answered.

“Where can I buy them?” I asked.

“You don’t buy them, Nana,” she said. “You register, and then six lucky children win free mermaid fins.” I swear she sounded just like a commercial announcer.

Finally, after a morning at the zoo, we were trudging back towards the entrance. It was hot and we were tired and hungry. As we walked by Monkey Island, there was a big bird standing in the water.

“Look,” I said authoritatively. “A stork!”

Kaiya was quiet for a few moments. Then she said, without a trace of sarcasm, “Hmmm, it looks like a pelican to me.”

Pelican

Stork

Of course, it was. And I’m the grown-up. But they look alike! Am I wrong?

By the way, Mylee ate four (that is not a typo) hot dogs for lunch. I will be entering her in a hot dog eating contest shortly.

Have a great weekend.

I think it’s pretty unusual for children – at least children living in a metropolitan area – to walk home from school these days. Just too many crazies out there.

But I would bet many of the Baby Boomers reading this blog walked home from school. Perhaps some rode a school bus, but particularly in smaller communities, getting to and from anywhere was generally on foot. Bill always tells our grandkids he walked two miles to and from school each day and it was uphill both ways! He adds that he had to get there early to get the potbelly stove going. Seeings as he went to school on the south side of Chicago, they are appropriately suspicious on all accounts.

But the part where he tells them he stopped each day on his way home from school at a little grocery store to pick up a bottle of Pepsi Cola and a package of Hostess Cupcakes is true. Many of us had similar experiences.

For my siblings and me, our stop was at a little grocery store called Potter’s, just a couple of blocks from our school. I recall that there were several little grocery stores like Potter’s around Columbus. Potter’s just happened to be the one closest to us. And I’m not talking little as in Sprouts as compared to Safeway. I’m talking little – a couple of shelves for groceries and a couple of coolers for meats and cheeses. In Columbus, our little stores also had butcher shops.

There were a few exceptionally good things about Potter’s. One, it was close to school and somewhat on our way home. Two, it had a HUGE candy case full of penny candy. And three, our Aunt Cork worked there. Our happiness at the third fact is closely related to our happiness at the second fact. Aunt Cork was always generous at doling out the penny candy.

Remember penny candy? When it really cost a penny?

You had pixie stix…..

And what about those horrendous wax lips…….

I loved Slo Poke suckers……

And, oddly, I also loved the wax bottles. You would bite off the tip and drink the one-hundredth of an ounce of sugar water that was in there, and then chew the wax (which was disgusting)…..

And how can any of us possibly forget candy cigarettes…….

It’s absolutely bizarre to think about how we would put them in our mouth and then pretend to smoke them, blowing out air in a manner that we felt was highly sophisticated. Talk about an ingenious marketing scheme!

There is a really good old-fashioned candy store in Estes Park that we make sure we visit any time we are in the vicinity. Bill loves the bullseye candy. I usually buy him bullseyes, Bit O’ Honey, Squirrel Nut Zippers, and Snaps. Instead of a penny, I’m lucky if I can get out of the store for under $20, and that’s with just a small bag. Still, the candy cases are beautiful and remind me of the showcase full of candy at Potter’s.

I guess small grocery stores like Potter’s were the precursors for stores such as 7-11 and Circle K. Those stores are a bit more antiseptic and less interesting. The little stores had just about anything you might need, but much less of it. No big coolers full of soft drinks – or “pop” as we called it, but a showcase full of candy, a few fresh vegetables, a cooler that held cheese and lunch meat, counters with canned goods and Wonder Bread, and a little butcher shop.  One of my childhood friends and I would stop by Potter’s when we were out riding our bikes and buy a string of frankfurters. Remember when wieners were sold by the pound and were strung together? We would tear a couple apart and eat them right there, sans the bun, cold and delicious. At least we thought so.

The days of little grocery stores is over for the most part. I guess you have the bodegas in New York City, and even Denver has some small markets featuring Indian food or Pakistani food or African food. But no little general grocery stores like Potter’s.

But I have one question. Where-oh-where do people buy their Black Jack gum these days?

Did you have a place where you stopped after school to get a snack?

Following is a guest post courtesy Rebecca Borman….

When I listen to the car radio I often hear a song by Melissa Lambert called “Automatic.”  In it, she opines “Hey, what ever happened to waiting your turn, doing it all by hand…It all just seems so good the way we had it, back before everything became automatic.”  I really like the song, and I sing along lustily whenever I hear it.  But, I have to admit that I don’t agree with what she says in it.  And here’s why:

A few days ago I had occasion to open a bottle of wine, using my spiffy cordless wine opener.  The cork came out of the bottle just fine.  But, when I pushed the button to release the cork…nothing happened.  Well, when I looked into the device I could see the cork spinning around, but it wasn’t going anywhere.  It certainly wasn’t detaching itself from the device.  I tried it repeatedly, but to no avail.  I thought that this gift, which was probably a bit expensive, would have to be thrown out.  But eventually I remembered the internet.  So, I Googled “cordless wine opener co”… and before I could finish, the subject line was completed for me…”cork won’t release.”  Obviously I wasn’t the first person with this problem.  In about 30 seconds, I got to a site on which someone explained how to fix the problem.  I tried it, and it worked.  It was a very easy solution but one that I wouldn’t have thought of trying in a million years.

This incident started me thinking about how much technology has changed my life—absolutely for the better.  Sometimes, it seems like magic.  I can find solutions to problems on-line.  I can heat up leftovers or make popcorn in mere seconds.  I can pick up my phone and instantly connect with anyone on my contact list.  If it’s too much to text, I can email or call.  I can watch movies on Netflix anywhere in my house on my beloved IPad.  This is all good stuff.

Of course, I recognize that technology can be put to evil use…and has been.  But, so can books, baseball bats, and pets.  It’s all in the hands of the user.

I’m of the belief that my generation is more able to appreciate this technology boom than any other group.  Those in my parents’ generation were behind the curve from the beginning.  Many of them worked hard to adapt, and they succeeded.  But, it seems like it has been a challenge for them continually to play catch-up with change after change.  On the other hand, my children’s generation is so used to the technology and to the speed with which it improves that they think nothing of it.   They can’t possibly appreciate how much it has changed the world because it’s been around their whole lives.

But people like me, born in the 40s and 50s, know the before and after.  When I lived in Germany, I didn’t own a telephone.  I spoke to my parents perhaps once or twice a year.  I found out about big things like weddings after the fact, either in one of those infrequent phone calls or by mail.  Even when I moved back to the US, it was expensive to make long-distance phone calls, and letters didn’t get written all that often.   I would spend a week or two with my family each year and I loved being part of their daily lives—knowing what naughtiness their children perpetrated or what they made for dinner.  Then I’d go back to my own home and miss intensely that close connection.

Now, it’s a rare day that I don’t text, email, or talk on the phone with one of my sisters.  Facetime lets us see each other drinking our morning coffee in our robes.  We get to watch our children and grandchildren kick a soccer goal, execute a dance step, or smile for the first time.

So, unlike Melissa Lambert, I don’t long for the times before everything became “automatic.”  I like automatic.

Note:  In fairness to Melissa, she explains that the song is “about slowing down, taking a breath and remembering what it’s like to live life a little more simply.”  I’m okay with that.