Winter Wonderland
The news has been full of predictions for record-breaking snow and cold temperatures across the United States over the next few days. Colorado is part of the path that storm will take, albeit not expected to be hit as badly as, say, Minnesota. Nevertheless, temperatures are expected to be in the zero range this morning. I’m very sad for our friends and family who are in Colorado, but I must say that I’m not sad that Bill and I are missing out on that inclement weather. A temperature of zero is cold, baby, cold. I feel sorry for our grands who will have to be out in the cold weather to get to school. They’re tougher than we are, however. It wouldn’t surprise me if our grandson Alastair wears shorts.

Blow the Man Down
While the temperatures in the Valley of the Sun aren’t in the ‘teens, the high yesterday was only in the 50s. That’s particularly chilly for this time of the year in AZ. Yesterday morning, I was awakened around 4:30 a.m. by the sound of wind blowing hard enough to send small dogs flying through the air. I got out of bed around 5:15, and it was still dark. The wind is especially spooky when you can’t see what damage it is doing. Then, to top it off, it started to rain. And when I say rain, I mean RAIN. AZ has had a particularly wet winter and spring. Between the rain and the wind, it sounded like the world was coming to an end.

The Tooth of the Matter
Bill went over to the dentist yesterday afternoon to (we thought) finally get the crowns put onto the implants. Jeez, the man hasn’t had back teeth for six months or more. Alas, when they took a look in his mouth, they realized he had not yet had his root canal, so there was no point in putting on the caps at this point. Duh. You think I would have thought of that, even given that I don’t have a degree in dentistry. So, he gets his root canal on March 3, and, with luck, will get his crowns on a couple of weeks after that. It’s always something, isn’t it? And if it’s not, it’s something else.

Penance
Yesterday being Ash Wednesday, we weren’t able to eat meat. For lunch, we went to Culvers and had fried shrimp. For dinner, I made fettucine al fredo with shrimp. Not much of a sacrifice, but a lot of calories! Before noon, I had already broken my Lenten vow to give up swearing. Oh well. There’s 39 more days and 39 more nights to make up for it.

Ciao.

We all know that there are two types of people: those who eat to live and those who live to eat. Taken literally, neither one is a very good way to live life. Having said that, I will admit — to no one’s surprise — that I am the latter. I would, however, change the “i” in live to an “o”, making it love to eat.

It doesn’t take long to determine if a person enjoys food. It has nothing to do with their weight or size. You can tell because they start talking about food almost immediately when you meet them.

Bill had the surgery on his face yesterday. It went very well, by the way. They got all of the cancer cells with the first cut, which was a lucky break, at least according to the surgeon. He would know. I could tell him whether to use there, their, or they’re but he can tell me when a surgery has gone very well.

As he was stitching up Bill’s wound, and as I was visibly trying not to watch because YUCK, the doctor asked, “So, where are you guys going to go to lunch?” That, my friends, told me immediately that this was a man who lived to eat.

I told him we were going to go to Oregano’s to celebrate the fact that the doctor didn’t have to whack on Bill’s face all day long.

“Ah, that’s a good choice,” he said. He then proceeded to tell me where he had eaten lunch that day (which explained why it took two-and-a-half hours to learn that there had been no cancer cells instead of the two hours they had promised). He not only told me where he ate, he told me WHAT he ate.

“I love to talk about food,” he told me, unnecessarily. As he stitched and stitched on Bill’s cheek, he asked me questions about where we like to eat and what we like to order. He approved of Red, White, and Brew — one of our favorite Mesa restaurants — and became very excited when he learned we had recently eaten at North Italia Restaurant.

“That’s one of my wife’s favorite restaurants,” he said. “She always gets the seafood pasta.”

Having said that, he was nevertheless very excited when he learned that I had ordered the short rib pasta dish.

“That’s a great choice,” he said, stitching, stitching, stitching.

If I had more time to talk to him, I would love to know if he liked to cook as much as he liked to eat. Though he wore a mask the entire time we visited and he stitched, I think he was of middle eastern descent, and I’m basing that on the fact that his first name was Ali and he had black hair. Oh, and I study ethnonationalism in my spare time. But that got me wondering if he prepared middle eastern food at home, and made me hungry for hummus.

At any rate, our talk about food kept me from passing out as he stitched Bill’s face. Perhaps that was his plan all along.

I literally just put away the last of my Christmas stuff, that being my kitchen towels with pictures of Santa Claus and The First Noel stamped onto the cloth. Both had gotten buried under other kitchen towels. And now I’m looking Ash Wednesday right smack in the eye. Time flies.

Sunday was our annual family Mardi Gras celebration. This year, Erik and Josey hosted, and the clan celebrated with a great deal of zest, as usual. Erik made his famous gumbo for the first time in a number of years. While the red beans and rice that is my offering is pretty simple to make (as long as I remember to soak the beans overnight), the gumbo takes a bit of finesse. I have never made gumbo, but the trick is apparently in the roux. It has to cook until it is just the perfect color of brown. Any lighter and it hasn’t the necessary flavor. Any darker, and it tastes burnt. My sister Bec told me that the night before, she and her family had been at a party, where Erik brought out his phone to show her the photo he had taken of his perfect roux. What can I say? Some people show off pictures of their children….

Today is the day that Bill has surgery on his face to remove cancerous basal cells. I say that as though I know what basal cells are. I know only about basil that you put in spaghetti sauce. The surgery should be simple, not even requiring any anesthesia beyond a local. Heck, football players get more than that when they twist an ankle and then go back in to play. But it’s a practical way to begin the Lenten season. Though the surgery is not serious and the doctor will certainly remove all the naughty cells, it reminds us that we are dust, and to dust we will return.

A few weeks ago, I started thinking about what sacrifice I should make for Lent. Voila! I shouted out to myself in the car in which I was, thankfully, alone. I will give up cussing. And then I laughed at myself, being fully aware that I didn’t really need to wait until Lent to give up cussing. My sister Jen told me that she did the same thing one year for Lent. The problem was, while she didn’t cuss out loud, she would cuss in her mind. I was reminded of the liturgical story in which we are told that having lustful thoughts is as bad as actually acting out your lust. Personally, I don’t agree with that, but Jesus didn’t ask my advice.

At any rate, starting Wednesday, we are looking at 40 days and 40 nights of coming to grips that we are human, and that God sent his Son to save us. Oh, and eating fish on Fridays.

Happy Presidents’ Day! See you tomorrow…..

We left Denver Thursday morning with the temperature hovering around 10 degrees. We are at our AZ home, and the temp is supposed to reach 75 today. Both Bill and I are happy to be in the warm weather and with our AZ peeps. They all make me smile.

Have a great weekend.

Flying on a Jet Plane
We were supposed to leave yesterday for our AZ home. I got a text Tuesday late afternoon from Southwest. It said Dear Kris, because we didn’t seem to upset you quite enough when we cancelled your Christmas Day flight to AZ, we are doing it again. Your Wednesday flight is cancelled. Take that, Sucka. Actually, all it said was that our flight was cancelled and gave me a link to a site where I could rebook. Southwest has gotten their stuff together because it was easy as pie to reschedule for this morning. I’m writing this on Wednesday afternoon, so I may have a different take when I blog again. Our plan is to be in AZ until the last week in March, at which time we have to return to Denver for a couple of doctor appointments. My sister Jen said Bill and I are jet setters. That has way to positive a connotation. We are jet SITTERS, not setters. Flying is pure agony, but better than driving.

Snow Nice to Be Inside
We got a sizeable snowstorm yesterday. By time I woke up at 5:30, there was probably three inches on the ground. Another two or three fell throughout the day. We were supposed to see a doctor in the afternoon, but we postponed it until we return. She was not willing, or perhaps, able, to do a telehealth call. Blah. But the good news is that we didn’t have to go outside at all yesterday. Our car is covered with our brand new car cover, and thus it will sit until we return at the end of March.

Walking
As the snow fell, Bill and I went to the gym yesterday to spend our 30 minutes on the recumbent bicycle. As we made our way there, we passed many people who were clearly doing their daily walk indoors instead of outdoors. It made me happy to see such devotion. It also made me laugh. The halls of Wind Crest looked like the movie scenes of the sidewalks of New York City in the morning as people walk to work.

Sweethearts
We had Valentine’s Day dinner with two of our friends at the special Valentine’s feast being offered by Wind Crest. I had spinach and artichoke dip with pita chips, lobster bisque, and prime rib. Not bad, eh? Best of all, there was a chocolate fountain for dessert, including all manner of things to dip in the chocolate. I am happy to say that Bill did not go and stick his tongue under the flowing chocolate, but he was a mighty happy camper.

Ciao.

Every year on Valentine’s Day, I write the same blog post. I use different words, but relay the same sentiment. Bill and I don’t gift a hoot about Valentine’s Day. We don’t exchange Valentine’s Day gifts. Actually, as an aside, it appears that Valentine’s gifts are kind of one-sided — boy to girl. I don’t know how same-sex couples handle it, but probably a little fairer. Anyhoo, usually we get each other cards, but we didn’t even do that this year. We’re simply too busy trying to keep from losing our minds because LIFE.

One successful gift that Bill has given me on Days past is a box of chocolates. I will admit that I am a sucker for a box of chocolates. I love the mystery of not knowing what you’re going to get. A couple of years, he got me such a big box of chocolates that it took more than our typical single day to finish it!

The day before Valentine’s Day, I was checking the activities calendar for the afternoon.

“Hey look!” I said to my husband, who was — shockingly — working on his drone. “They’re selling flowers and candy in the Treasure Chest store downstairs from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m.”

We both looked at the clock, which said 1:46. He made a motion indicating he was trying to stand up and get his mind on hearts instead of drones.

“Settle down,” I told him. “I don’t need a Valentine’s gift.”

He sighed with relief.

Still, yesterday afternoon, following yet another doctor’s visit, we stopped at Ace Hardware. I stayed in the car while he went in to buy whatever piece of hardware he needed. He came out with a fairly sizeable bag. When he got into the car, he pulled out a 500-piece Springbok puzzle.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear,” he said.

He could not have given me a better present. I love puzzles. To have a brand new puzzle still wrapped in cellophane made by my favorite puzzle maker made me feel like Princess Kate (who likely doesn’t work on puzzles, what with three small kids and all). I was a happy camper.

By the way, just to spoil any loving feelings you have for the holiday’s patron saint — St. Valentine — here is a current photo of him at some small church in Italy…..

It’s the flowers that make him special. Happy belated Valentine’s Day.

Didn’t you love that YouTube video I posted yesterday that had all of the AT&T predictions way back in 1993? They all seem so routine now that it’s hard to imagine that there was a time when our cell phones weren’t computers. Hell, there was a time when there was no such thing as a cell phone. Even in those commercials, when the woman told her baby goodnight from miles away, she was doing it in a phone booth with push buttons.

I know baby boomers remember distinctly when we didn’t carry a little computer/cell phone along in our pockets. I remember that we had one telephone in our house, and it was in the kitchen. It was in a little nook where there was also a pencil and paper to take messages. Gloor residence, Kris speaking was the way I answered our telephone. Kids: BECAUSE THERE WERE NO VIDEOS SO YOU DIDN’T KNOW TO WHOM YOU WERE SPEAKING. I also remember that in order to speak to my boyfriend, I had to take the phone — with its exceptionally long, curly cord — down the hall and into the bathroom (our only bathroom, by the way) and close the door. Even then I wasn’t a big phone talker, but nevertheless, there were times when my mother would have to knock on the bathroom door and point out that there others in the household who may be waiting for a call or needing to make a call. The phone was red, so we were Cool McCool.

The other day, I was driving to the UPS store to return a package. Because I am still relatively unfamiliar with our neighborhood, I had my phone hooked to Apple Car Play, and was letting the nice computer woman from Apple Maps tell me where to go. Everything was going well until she got to the inevitable In 1,000 feet, turn left.

That’s where I lose Missy every time. Truth is, I haven’t the foggiest idea how to measure 1,000 feet in my head. She really might as well be saying turn in the direction of the continent of Africa. I don’t know what direction Africa is from the Highlands Ranch UPS store. And, to tell the truth, unless the Rocky Mountains are in full sight, don’t even THINK about telling me to go west (or north, south, or east), because I have no sense of direction. I’m always in big trouble in AZ because the mountains (such as they are) are all around the city. Directions do me no good unless they include words like right or left. I’m good on those.

Having said all of that, I think GPS is one of the best advances made to date. Well, of course there was the printing press and electricity, but both were before my time. Though the grandkids might doubt it, I was not around when monks were printing the Bible by hand. But to be able to have a device that tells me how to get from point A to point B (and with Car Play, I can even look at the map) makes me very happy. Though I am a lover of maps in general, I have awful memories of being the navigator as Bill and I drove in unfamiliar places with a map crumpled up on my lap and me shouting at him, “You were supposed to turn left at that intersection” and him hollering back, “Well it would have been nice if you had told me that’s where I needed to turn.” Now we just get mad at Apple.

Because really, at the end of the day, Apple likely has a hand in everything that goes wrong.

This series of commercials was fed to me yesterday by Google prior to the Super Bowl, and it amazed me. The commercials ran in 1993. In that year, which seems like yesterday, the things they talked about seemed like The Jetsons. Needless to say, that is our world today.

Enjoy. I wonder what the world will be like in 20 years from now?