Author Archives: kzmclain

Merry Christmas

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Bill and I leave Christmas Day for AZ, where we will be until May. This year our granddaughter Adelaide is coming with us. I will be busy enjoying the season and entertaining my granddaughter, so you won’t hear from me for a few days.

As I do every year, I will leave you with my two personal favorite Christmas pictures: The first is a photo of Kaiya (who was about 4 at the time) and Mylee (who was about 2), who had just been caught opening up their presents early one morning while their parents were still sleeping a few days before Christmas…..

Have you ever seen such guilty faces?

My second favorite photo is of Jen’s grandson Austin, who had just been forced to put on the Christmas jammies she had gotten him. The resemblance to Ralphie in A Christmas Story never fails to make me laugh……

Merry Christmas to all of my friends and family who support me by reading my blog. I appreciate you all so much.

One of a Kind

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Something occurred to me yesterday as I was listening to our pastor’s homily: The Bible teaches us that God made the many creatures of the earth, large and small. But while he made man and woman, he only made one of me. There has never been a “me” before me, and there will never be a “me” after me. Does that make sense?

I am completely and totally unique. The way I look, the way I think, the way I see the world, all of my attributes and drawbacks have never collectively been in a person before, nor will they ever collectively be in a person henceforth. I am completely distinctive.

It staggers the mind. Or at least it staggered my mind. Apparently I enjoy staggering my own mind more than I enjoy listening to the sermon. Sorry Father. At least I wasn’t thinking about all the gifts I have to wrap.

Here’s the thing: Recognizing my own uniqueness places a lot of responsibility on me. I am too good to be wasted. And maybe I’ve let myself come to believe that everything I’ve had to give to the world, I’ve already given. I am a mother, but my son is grown and takes care of himself and his family. I had a profession in which I was pretty successful and mostly content, but I’m now retired and don’t have to worry about job performance.

So I can sit back and hand the reigns over to the younger people, right?

The thing is, I think our uniqueness provides us the opportunity to do good things. Every day. Our kids may be grown, but our grandkids aren’t. I can offer them a listening ear, love without judgement, and a cookie jar full of the Oreos they don’t get at home…..

I might not get paid to write like I did when I was gainfully employed, but people tell me very often that they enjoy reading my blog and that I often make them laugh. I can pray and forgive others and be generous every day.

It’s that time when I am saying goodbye to my Colorado peeps and looking forward to saying hello to my AZ peeps. A new beginning of sorts. I haven’t worn out my welcome yet in AZ. Seems like a good time to figure out a good way to use my uniqueness to be helpful and productive and use my gifts for good.

Saturday Smile: It’s Not Just Horses That Are Lame

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Thursday evening, I gave Maggie Faith a ride to her school dance — the Winter Ball. Maggie is in her first year at her middle school. Her sister Dagny, an eighth grader, chose not to go. When I picked her up, she looked very pretty in a dress, with just a touch of mascara and blush that she borrowed from her sister. “If you don’t hear from me sooner,” she told me, “pick me up at 8 o’clock.”

I dutifully drove to the school at 8 o’clock, and I didn’t have to wait long for her to appear.

“Did you have fun?” I asked her.

“It was okay,” she said tentatively.

“Were there very many seventh and eighth graders?” I asked her.

“No, it was mostly sixth graders,” she said. A few moments passed. Then: “The sixth graders are the only ones who haven’t figured out yet how lame those dances are.”

Viva la sixth grade!

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Cutting Season

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Caren Gray grew up on Belle Vie, the Louisiana plantation where her mother worked as a cook and her great great great grandfather was a slave. The home has been in the Clancy family since the days when they owned slaves. Now she lives there with her young daughter, a single mother who manages the antebellum home which is now an historic venue.

One night a young Mexican woman who works cutting sugar cane for the Groveland Corporation next to Belle Vie is found with her throat slit. There is no apparent reason, and blame is quickly placed on one of the Belle Vie workers who is putting together a film documenting a murder that took place during the days of slavery. Caren is caught in the middle as it appears that her 9-year-old daughter might be a witness.

I have never read anything by the author, Attica Locke, but The Cutting Season won’t be the last novel of hers that I will read. She tells a good story, and I rather wish that Caren Gray would be an ongoing character, as I found her to be multidimensional and intensely interesting. I can’t imagine working someplace that had once owned my ancestor as a slave.

There were twists and turns in the storyline, and the ending was quite unexpected. I liked the joining of a mystery with a book with historical background.

This is the author’s second book, and I look forward to reading more.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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When It Rains, It Pours
Bill and I have just gotten over the sticker shock at having to completely update our breaker box. The other day the oven light went out in my top oven. (The bottom oven light has been out for years but I seldom use that oven so it hasn’t bothered me.) The problem is that in order to reach the oven lights, Bill needed to remove the doors. Unfortunately, when he was putting the bottom oven door back in place, the metal hinge broke. We subsequently learned that the ovens are so old that they no longer manufacture the part. The good news is that the top oven works fine. Our plan is to put our head in the sand until we return from AZ in May. At that time we will decide what to do, which will likely be to replace the ovens. In the meantime, my bottom oven is doorless. Sigh…..

Papa had help putting the top oven door on as Addie and Alastair came by to help. How many McLains does it take to fix an oven door?…..

Fill the Cookie Jar
I finally got back in the saddle following the sugar cookie extravaganza on Sunday. Yesterday I made cinnamon biscotti and shortbread. Just in the nick of time because we were nearly out of the cookies I saved for us as the rest went out the door on Sunday…..

Hoops
Cole had his first basketball game on Saturday morning. Court played basketball throughout his youth, and loves the game. I don’t know if Cole is going to feel the same way, but he was a gamer…..

Which is Which
Jll and Dave prepared me brunch for my birthday on Saturday. Afterwards, I had the opportunity to check out the kids’ bedrooms. The contrast between Alastair’s room and Addie’s room made me laugh out loud. Guess which is which…..

Ciao!

Sing For Your Life

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Here’s how I know that I’m getting old and crabby now that I’ve turned 66.

Almost daily, I get something from Google on my Apple watch or iPhone alerting me to the fact that some old fart has put out a new album. For awhile, it was Jerry Lee Lewis. I don’t know why Google thinks I like Jerry Lee Lewis. Maybe it enjoyed the book review I did about the old time rock-and-roller. But I don’t want to buy — or even listen to — his album. Ol’ Jerry Lee hit his peak just a little before my time. Yes grands, there is a period before my time.

Lately, however, I’ve been getting alerts from Google that Tony Bennett has put out a new Christmas album. Here’s the thing: I don’t want to buy — or even listen to — anything Tony Bennett releases any more. Unlike Jerry Lee Lewis, I have long been a fan of Tony Bennett. I enjoy listening to jazz singers, so-called Rat Pack type music. Michael Buble, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett. But Tony, can I please ask you to stop the madness?

Let’s call a horse a horse. He no longer sings. He talks against a music background. He barely sings a note. And Tony, God love you. You’re 93 years old. You’ve had a good run. But please ask Google to stop thinking I want to buy your new Christmas album. I’m sticking with my old Andy Williams albums. You know, the one he recorded when he was 36?

Having said all of the above, I have to admire Mr. Bennett for all he does for a man of his advanced years. I can say that without worrying about the PC police because I, too, am in the more, um, mature age group. Plus, he’s 93, making me seem like a kid.

Here he is, 93 years old and yet he gets up out of his La-Z-Boy to make the trek to the recording studio. I wonder if he takes one of those retirement home buses that make me second-guess my decision to grocery shop  if I see one parked in front of the grocery store. I can hear his fellow bus riders. Hey Tone. Stop snapping your fingers back there. You’re getting on my nerves.

I give a lot of credit to the old performers and rockers. I mean, Keith Richard is living proof that sex, drugs, and rock-and-roll are good for you. I don’t think he’s ever going to die…..

Nevertheless, I don’t want to buy his album either.

And Jimmy Buffett? He’s starting to look like my college biology professor…..

But, as I say, grouchy as I sound, I am impressed that these performers still have the get-up-and-go to continue to perform. The most get-up-and-go that I have these days is when I get up and go to the restroom in the middle of the night.

But Google! I don’t want to buy Tony Bennett’s Christmas album.

Sprinkled

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I’ve mentioned before that none of Mom’s kids learned to cook by standing next to her as she explained what she was doing, and why. We did, however, learn by watching her, or at least I did. I remember that when they lived in Summit County, Court and I would come for the weekend. I would sit on the stool at the counter and watch her cook as we talked about, well, everything. Good memories. Some of her cooking chops might have been passed to me through the process, though I’ll never be as good as she.

Court had no interest in watching me cook. He was much more interested in basketball and girls (perhaps not in that order). Nonetheless, he has become a good cook, as have most of our kids. The reality is that I really preferred that he not ask questions. I worked full time, and when I got home at night, I just wanted to get a meal on the table.

Which is why I love when I have the opportunity to cook with my grandkids. Retirement has given me the gift of time. I’ve made it a point to involve them in cooking and baking often…..

I always read that if you cook with children, they will learn to enjoy food and not be such fussy eaters. I remember the first time I cooked with Kaiya and Mylee, and they helped me make a lasagna. They stirred the sauce and sprinkled the cheese and helped put it together in the lasagna pan. But when it came out of the oven and I offered a piece to Kaiya, she said no thank you and has never looked back. To his day, she is the fussiest eater of my pack of nine grandkids. So much for that theory…..

My kitchen is a mess, and I will admit that if you saw my kitchen any time I am cooking, it will be equally messy.

By far and away, my favorite cooking-related activity with my grandkids is baking and decorating Christmas sugar cookies. I’ve been able to decorate sugar cookies with all of my grandkids except for the Vermonters…..

This past weekend, Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole came over to make Christmas cookies. We made two kinds: peanut butter blossoms and the above-mentioned sugar cookies. I’d hoped to make other kinds, but the sugar cookies were a touch more intense than I had anticipated. They not only took more time, but they plumb wore out this nana. Afterwards, I had icing in all number of surprising places, and so much colored sugar and sprinkles on the floor that I thought my Roomba would resign when I ran her the next day. Still, I think they had fun (the grands, not the Roomba)…..

I sent most of the cookies home with the kids. Well, that’s not exactly true. What I should say in all honesty is that the kids ate very many of the cookies before I ever got them in a tin. So did their papa.

I still have a few more cookies I want to bake, but I have given myself a couple of days rest.

By the way, Christmas baking was not a thing at my house when I grew up. Why? Because all of the holiday baking was done at the bakery. It was my favorite time of the year because of all of the wonderful goodies!

Christmas cookies are one of my favorite things about the holiday season.

Hallelujia!

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This is a photo of Handal, not my sister. I believe that no matter how he lived his life, God grabbed him at his death to bring his music into Eternal Life! He could use a better wig, however.

The first time I ever heard Handel’s Messiah was when my sister Bec participated in the oratorio as part of a University of Nebraska choir. I was hooked from the first comfort ye my people. In particular, I found the choruses astoundingly beautiful.

In high school, I was part of a chorus, but it wasn’t really a choice. Music class was a required part of our school’s curriculum, but if it had been a choice, I would have taken the class. I love singing with a choir— always have and always will.

So when I entered the University of Nebraska,I followed in my sister’s footsteps and auditioned for the chorus that performed Handel’s Messiah. To this day I don’t know how I managed to be selected. I can carry a tune — or at least I used to be able to carry a tune; now I just sort of warble. However, I do not purport to have a lovely singing voice. The choir director asked me what part I sang. I said alto, not because I firmly believed I was an alto, but because that’s the part Bec sang. f it was good enough for her, it was good enough for me. After my audition, the director told me, “You passed the audition. I’m not convinced, however, that you are an alto.” But I sang the alto part, and I’ve never looked back.

Saturday night, my birthday gift to myself was a ticket to hear the Colorado Bach Ensemble sing the entire Messiah. Singing the entire oratorio is a Big Deal, because it’s long. Three hours long. It’s divided up into three parts — the birth of Christ, Christ’s passion, and the promise of eternal life.

Since I discovered the Colorado Bach Ensemble, I’ve attended their performances of the Messiah. They are always performed in a church. Two years in a row, the church was near our house. This year they moved to a beautiful old Methodist church downtown, with the huge pipe organ and amazing acoustics. I long ago decided I would only go to the Messiah with someone who loves it like I love it. I have no interest in being with someone who is looking at his or her watch, wishing it was over. Bill always says he’ll go, but he would be looking at his watch. Bless his heart.

Last year I went with my friend Megan, who passed away a few months later. My heart is happy that we attended the performance that she loved like me. This year, I was supposed to go with my sister Jen, but weather got in the way. Or at least we thought it was going to get in our way, but the snow they predicted never materialized in Denver. So she stayed home for nothing.

But I had a great runner-up in the wings. My friend Lynne also performed the Messiah when she was younger, and loves it like I love it. We took Lyft to the church. The downtown church provided for a bit of a different experience. Like the homeless man sitting in the front of the church wearing a Santa Claus hat and quietly directing the orchestra and vocalists. Bless his heart.

Over the years, I’ve learned to appreciate not only the music, but the message as well. I am unable to listen to the concluding chorus, Worthy is the Lamb, without crying, partly from its sheer beauty, but mostly from the message that Jesus is the Messiah and died to save us all, an undeniably worthy savior.

It put me in the Christmas spirit, and reminded me of why we celebrate Christ’s birth.

Saturday Smile: Taking the O Train

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As I mentioned earlier in the week, on Thursday Bill and I went to the Monet exhibit that is currently at the Denver Art Museum. Needless to say, it was amazing…..

Our tickets were for 10 o’clock. We went back and forth on whether to drive or take light rail or our fallback — Lyft or Uber. We landed on taking Lyft to the museum, and then afterwards, when we wouldn’t be in a hurry, take the bus from the museum down to the light rail station, and then take light rail home.

After we finished seeing the exhibit, it was near 11:30, and we were both hungry, and more important, tired to the bone. I recalled that there was a nice sit-down restaurant in the Art Museum, but I didn’t know where. We asked one of the docents, and she told us that the restaurant was no longer in existence. She went on, however, to refer us to a restaurant called Fire that was located in a nearby oh-so-cool hotel called the ART Hotel….

Thankfully, we had both put on nice clothes instead of our raggedy jeans, because the restaurant was a step or two above Arby’s.

We enjoyed a nice meal and some good wine. My $18 burger was worth the price…..

As we finished up, I asked Bill, “Where do we catch our bus?”

“Shhhhh,” he whispered to me. “You can bet we are the only ones here that are planning on catching the Broadway O bus after lunch!”

Had it suddenly gotten quiet, or was that just my imagination? At any rate, he made me laugh out loud.

Have a great weekend.

 

Friday Book Whimsy: The Family Upstairs

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It isn’t often that I can say that I simply can’t put a book down. I read The Family Upstairs, by Lisa Jewell, in bed until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I read the next day as a Lyft driver took me downtown. And I read on my way home as well. I had to know — HAD TO KNOW — what happens to this oh-so-complicated-and-disturbed family.

Libby Jones finally receives the letter she knew would be coming when she turned 25. She rips it open and learns that her birth mother and father who had died years before in an apparent suicide pact left her their mansion in the Chelsea neighborhood of London that is worth millions of dollars.

She had a brother and sister, who vanished after their parents’ death. Libby, then only an infant, was found happily playing in her crib. What happened to her siblings and why did her parents commit suicide?

Meanwhile, while Libby is digesting her newfound wealth, Lucy is barely surviving, trying to provide food and shelter for her two children. She hasn’t forgotten that  the baby is 25, a reminder she sees every day in her diary.

And then there’s Henry, Lucy’s brother. Is he still alive?

I love author Lisa Jewell. Her novels never fail to keep me glued to the stories, which always take unexpected twists and turns. The Family Upstairs is dark, even for this author who takes the reader places you will have bad dreams about that night. Some of the twists didn’t surprise me, but others caught me off guard. Jewell’s characters are always interesting and often have dark sides. Libby and Lucy and Henry and Phin were no exception.

I really enjoyed The Family Upstairs, and give it a big thumbs up.

Here is a link to the book.