I’m thankful for my brother and sisters, for my patient and loving husband, for our kids and all of their kids who have made me a nana. I’m grateful for all of the gifts with which God has graced me on this Thanksgiving Day and on every day of the year.
I will be back on Monday. Have a wonderful holiday.
When I hit the sack Monday night, there were still only snow flurries instead of the heavy snow that was predicted. Perhaps they miscalculated, I thought. Au contraire, my friends. It was still dark when I got up yesterday morning. However, as the ridiculously early morning began turning into a normal early morning, I saw that there was a good six or eight inches of snow on the ground, and it was still snowing.
I was very glad that Bec had chosen to arrive in Denver on Monday instead of Tuesday, as planned. The weather forecasters were absolutely twitterpated about the snowstorm. Except how often can you show photos of black labs with snow on their noses and expect me to keep watching? I shut off the television.
What I did do, however, was scold myself for not being as smart as the neighbors, who had taken their trash bins and recycling bins down to the street the night before when it was only lightly snowing. Because I had to shovel some eight inches off of our sidewalk to be able to roll the bins down to the street. Lesson learned……
Sometime around 9 o’clock a.m., I heard noises in the front yard. I opened the door to this…..
Yes, friends, it was my busy bee grandkids, along with their mom, shoveling our walk and driveway. Many hands make easy work. As for me, I quickly rustled up some hot chocolate. Here is the work crew, minus Alastair, who had already left for home…..
l-r: Dagny, Maggie Faith, Adelaide, Joseph, Jll, and Micah. Helpers, all!
The snow stopped mid-afternoon, and hopefully will stay stopped for a few days. We need to get Jen to Denver, and Heather, Lauren, the boys, and Bec back to their respective homes this weekend.
My blog posts are going to be short and sweet this week as we prepare for Thanksgiving, and company.
I’m happy to report that Bec was smart enough to change her flight to Monday. She arrived at our house before the first flake even fell.
And speaking of flakes, many, many flakes are predicted to fall between yesterday evening and this afternoon. As much as an inch an hour is one prediction I heard. Perhaps somewhere between 12 and 18 inches. Aren’t we lucky? (That was sarcasm, though many of you actually think that is true.)
Jen will drive south to Denver between snowstorms, on Wednesday. It should be clear, if cold. Another front will move in Thursday sometime.
Today Joseph, Micah, Dagny, and Maggie Faith spent the day with us. Among other things, we watched It’s a Wonderful Life, a movie that has had to grow on me over the years. I believe it might have to grow on Micah as well. He was totally puzzled about the concept of George Baily having never been born. But he’s right there, he kept pointing out. If he’s never been born, why isn’t he invisible? All good questions, you see. Joseph began worrying as soon as George lost the money. Does he ever get it back, Joseph asked me. I wouldn’t give away the ending, but reminded him that it was a holiday movie. Christmas magic.
Last night, Bill, Bec, Heather, Lauren and I went out for dinner to celebrate all the birthdays we never get to spend together. I chose Le Merise, the French restaurant where we recently dined, as our venue. When we drove home at 8:30, there were still only flurries. There were no worries from my end. Heather was our Lyft driver!
Christmas comes earlier every year. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am aware that Christmas falls on December 25, each and every year. But Christmas-with-a-small-c now starts well before Halloween. I’m not sure they ever even stopped playing Christmas carols on KOSI-101.
As for me, every year, Christmas season begins the day after Thanksgiving. One holiday at a time, thank you very much. Except for this year. I spent all weekend setting up my Christmas trees, putting up my wreaths, lighting up our outdoor bushes, and decorating my mantle for the holiday season. I gave myself permission because the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas is so short this year.
Furthermore, I have mentioned in the past that every Christmas Eve Day, Bill and I are the Grinch who stole Christmas. We take down our trees, remove the wreaths from the door, carefully fold up our outdoor lights, and return our regularly-scheduled mantle decorations to their rightful place.
And last, but certainly not least, starting this evening and throughout the day tomorrow, Denver and the Front Range is looking at six or more inches of snowfall. I don’t care a whit that we desperately need moisture because my sister Bec is flying in tomorrow. Fingers crossed, that is.
A couple of years ago, I bought two new Christmas trees. My old trees were in fine shape. However, they needed two bodies to set them up. That meant I had to cajole Bill into helping me. He was always nice about it, but I knew he would rather be doing things like flying his drone or hitting the speed bag he set up in the garage. The new trees (well, newer trees) are easy peasy, and I can set them up in no time flat. Are they gorgeous?…..
Not as pretty as they could be, but once the ornaments are on the trees, they provide the necessary holiday spirit. Especially if you have Miracle on 34th Street or White Christmas playing in the background.
I placed my real live evergreen wreaths that my daughter-in-law Jll gifted me on our door, and threw a net of lights over our bushes. Boom. We won’t win the lighting contest, but the lights make me happy….
Every year when I set up my trees, I recall my mother preparing for Christmas when I was a child. We generally put up our live — always live — tree around my birthday on December 14. It always felt like a present for me. Oh, and for Baby Jesus.
At the bakery, Dad started baking the Christmas braided bread, which I have since learned is called Zopf. He also began making cookies, and almond and peppermint bark. At Christmas, bread was sealed using curly ribbon. It was all very festive.
But first we give thanks on Thanksgiving Day. This year Heather, Lauren, Joseph and Micah are visiting from Vermont. There will be a reasonable 22 or so folks at the dinner table at the home of Dave and Jll. While they prepare the turkey, the rest of us help with the sides. Jen and Bec will be there to help celebrate.
That is, if the weather cooperates for Bec!
Heather and Lauren and the boys are in town from Vermont for the Thanksgiving holiday. We had dinner with the whole gang last night. At some point following dinner, this happened…..
We enjoyed our gathering very much…..
Have a great weekend.
One of the things I always have to remind myself when I read historical novels is that, given that they are novels, the perspective depends on the whims of the author. I’ve read books — both novels and nonfiction — in which New York City socialite Alva Vanderbilt is presented in a somewhat unfavorable light. A Well Behaved Woman, by Therese Anne Fowler, takes a different angle.
The wife of C.J. Vanderbilt, whose father made a fortune as a railroad magnate, Alva Vanderbilt helped bring the Vanderbilt family into the upper echelons of 19th Century New York City society alongside the Astors. How and why she did this is in the eyes of the beholder.
Her family had been well respected in the south, but her father lost all of his money in 
the Civil War. They were destitute. In this novel, Alva used her beauty and brains to win over C.J. Vanderbilt, who made no bones about the fact that he was marrying her because he felt she could use those same attributes to help his family be accepted by the New York City old money families.
She is utterly successful in this task, hosting elaborate balls, building several homes in New York City and Newport, RI (where the wealthy spent summers in their “cabins”). She had everything but the true love of her husband. Instead, she yearned to be with the man who eventually became her second husband following a scandalous divorce, something not ever done before in her social circles.
She went on to see her daughter marry into a British royal family, and was active in the women’s suffrage movement.
Whether Alva Vanderbilt Belmont was a strong and brave woman or simply an ambitious money-seeker, or someone in between, there is no question she left her mark on New York City.
King Soopers Was Happy to See Me
We hadn’t even been home for 24 hours, and I already had visited the grocery store three times. The last week or so that we were in AZ, I scarcely cooked because I didn’t want any leftovers. So I was determined to avoid going out to eat for awhile. Tuesday night we had spaghetti and last night I made beef stew. Both were yummy. But I must be out of practice because last night’s beef stew required a couple of trips to the grocery store. I kept thinking I had things in my pantry that I didn’t.
You Know You’re From Nebraska When…..
A friend of mine posted this photo on Facebook. It’s an actual photograph of something a Nebraska farmer has done to a bale of hay. I think it is the cutest thing ever. I wonder if I could have a bale delivered to our house right in the middle of Denver. I also imagine I could hear our neighbors say, “My, it is so nice when they’re gone.”…..
Baby You Can Drive My Car
My driver’s license expires on my December birthday. I have been so nervous that I would forget to renew it and return to AZ with my old license. Since I’m now over 65, I can’t simply renew online. I need to appear in person so that they can judge whether I am fit to drive. I hope they don’t ask me to name any Christmas movies, because I already know those names escape me. Anyhoo, I went online to see where the nearest location was, and found one not far from here. They will only see people by appointment. When I went to make my appointment, I learned that they are way out past my December 14 birthday when it comes to available time. So I guess I’m going to do it the old fashioned way this afternoon. Pull a number and sit in the beige room with all of the other crabby people.
Wet Floor
While I came home to an empty refrigerator and pantry, Bill came home to water on the floor by the furnace. Dang. When you own a house, it’s always something. When you own two houses, it’s always something times two. We called for service, and they came out within a couple of hours. I’m pleased to report that it was simply a missing small plug which Bill and his new friend found in a garbage can. I don’t know how that happened. What I do know is that our grandkids LOVE to play hide and seek, and the basement is a favorite hiding spot. Anyway, it was only 80 bucks instead of thousands of bucks. Yay on that.
Ciao.
Our trip from Mesa to Denver was fairly uneventful. Our niece Maggie changed hats from Mom Seeing Her Kids Off On The School Bus to Uber Driver For Her Aunt And Uncle. She picked us up as planned at 7:30 a.m., and drove like a bat out of hell to get us dropped off at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport before she had to head to her job. Parents today have to be masterful multitaskers, and she’s one of the best.
She told us that Austin and Lilly are simply flummoxed, and frankly quite annoyed, about us leaving AZ for Denver. “They haven’t been here that long,” Austin complained. Maggie explained that we wanted to be with our family for the holidays. They both apparently grudgingly allowed that, as long as we came back after Christmas. And brought their grammie with us. Done and done.
Our flight to Denver was uneventful. Getting through Security was another story altogether. Bill was poked, wanded, prodded, patted down, and grilled. I think Osama Bin Laden would have had an easier time than he had getting through Security. And Bill is even TSA-Pre-Approved. It’s the danged medical pump. That, and the fact that they were training a new TSA agent. Bill provided a teachable moment. I felt that two times was at least one time to many for the agent to conduct a search of Bill’s most intimate parts. One more time, and I think they might have been engaged.
It was good to be back in Denver. The weather cooperated, with temperatures in the 60s. The next few days in AZ are going to be rainy. That’s good for the water supply, but I’m not sorry to miss that particular weather event. The meteorologists were more than twitterpated by the weather outlook for the next few days. They get tired of saying tomorrow’s weather will be sunny and hot all the time. Having said that, the next few days here in Denver are supposed to be cold and snowy. Bundle up!
As for me, I could hardly wait to get into my bed last night. For one thing, we got up really early to catch our Maggie-Uber. But mostly I just looked forward to the comfortable (and king-sized) mattress. Judging by the fact that I had back issues for our entire time in Mesa, it looks like a new bed is in store for us at that house as well.
Today, after a good night’s sleep, I hope to see some of our family.
As I began preparing yesterday to return to Denver after our month in AZ, I started to think about my life. Not my big-picture life. My every day life. This distraction allowed me the opportunity to put off the nasty job of cleaning out my refrigerator, something I must do because much of what’s in it won’t be good when we return on Christmas Day. It is a job I heartily dislike.
Anyway, what I realized is that much of my life is quite mundane and predictable. I get up almost the same time every morning. My routine is exactly the same: I turn on my computer. While it opens up, I post my blog on Facebook. I then walk around the house and open the blinds and the doors, if weather-appropriate. I don’t make my coffee ahead of time, though I could since I get up so predictably at 5:30. So I fill the pot with water and coffee and press the on button. Once the coffee is going, I return to my computer to check my emails and make sure that Chili’s and Christopher and Banks has sent me their predictable five or six emails overnight.
And so on, and so forth. My life is so mundane that I won’t bore you with the rest of my day. I will, however, suggest that most of you could say the same thing. Activities one day are much the same as the next. But you know what? That’s alright.
Last weekend’s gospel was the first of several that remind us that our time on this earth is limited. The gospels between now and the beginning of Advent are the frightening reminders that some day the world will end. They used to terrify me, but as I get older, I am much more aware that none of us lives forever. (Although I admit I’m not convinced that Betty White won’t be the exception.)
It’s pretty clear that at this point in my life, I’m not going to come up with the cure for Parkinson’s. Writing the Great American Novel is unlikely. I’m not even sure I will ever fly first-class, one of the few remaining items on my Bucket List.
But I can be a patient care partner for someone who has Parkinson’s. And I can continue to write my daily blog. I might not fly first class, but maybe I will. In the meantime, I can afford to fly regular class and be thankful that my legs are short.
At the end of the day, my life is not terribly extraordinary. But I can concentrate on doing my ordinary activities in an extraordinary way. This is the best way I can serve God.
When you read my blog tomorrow, I will be traveling to Denver. So I may or may not post a blog on Wednesday. If not, talk to you soon.
Cowboys ain’t easy to love and they’re harder to hold
They’d rather give you a song then diamonds or gold
Lonestar belt buckles and old faded Levi’s and each night begins a new day
If you don’t understand him and he don’t die young
He’ll probably just ride away.Mamas’ don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don’t let ’em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Let ’em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas’ don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys
‘Cause they’ll never stay home and they’re always alone
Even with someone they love.- Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson
One day last winter when we were in AZ, we stopped at a little bistro near us for some wine and appetizers. We were with some friends and Bill and I had just seen the wild horses for the first time. Seeing wild horses makes me hungry and thirsty. It was happy hour, and we sat outside.
It happened that they were offering live music. A man of Baby Boomer age was playing guitar and singing country music. Random for something called a bistro, but it is, after all, the Wild Wild West. And he was quite good. Or maybe it was the wine.
He struck up a song…Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys. The people enjoying the music on the patio —including the four of us — were all swaying to the three-four waltz rhythm and singing along.
When he finished, the singer asked the crowd, “Does anyone know who recorded that song?”
Before you could say Ride ‘em Cowboy, Bill hollared out, “Waylon Jennings!”
What? Now how in the world did he remember that?
“How in the world did you remember that?” I asked him.
“Beats the hell out of me,” he answered. “It just came to me.”
Many years ago, when Bill moved to Colorado from Chicago, he went all in, as Bill is wont to do. He bought a pickup truck, a horse, a cowboy hat and cowboy boots. And he started listening to country music. And those were the days when country music was, well, COUNTRY. Willie Nelson. Glen Campbell. Johnny Cash. And Waylon Jennings. As we age, while we can’t remember where we put our phone, we can remember things like who sang what country song.
As an aside, recently we were talking about things to do in Mesa with these same friends. Denice told me that there is a house located on the Arizona Golf Resort property where the television program Bonanza was partially recorded. “You know,” she said, “where the Cartwright’s cook prepared their meals. What was his name again?”
And before you could say Little Joe, I said, “Hop Sing.” Now where in the world did THAT come from? Our friends must think we’re really smart. Ha.
Anyhoo, back to Waylon. Fast forward a few months. I’m watching the PBS Ken Burns series about the history of country music. As usual, I am Wikipedia-ing all sorts of things as I watch. One of the things I googled was the background of Waylon Jennings. Lo, and behold, I learned that he was buried in the City of Mesa Cemetery.
Can you say Field Trip?
So on Saturday, when Bill was so bored that he was considering cleaning his workbench in the garage, I suggested we take the half-hour drive to the cemetery and find the gravestone. We had planned on waiting for our friends who shared the Waylon Jennings song-recognition-shout-out by Bill, but he was mighty bored.
Voila…..
I’ll leave you with two things: 1) We didn’t leave the beer bottles and cigarettes. They were already there. And 2) That song is now so stuck in my mind that I don’t think it will ever leave.
Nana's Whimsies 