Happy Birthday America
Since tomorrow (Thursday) is the Fourth of July, I am giving you my Thursday Thoughts on Wednesday. Tomorrow I will be celebrating with my sister and her kids and grandkids in Fort Collins. We do it every year, and it is the perfect way to celebrate the birthday of our freedom.

Eating American
Yesterday I had lunch with my eldest grandchild, Addie. Let’s have sushi, she said, not surprisingly. As we ate our sushi, she told me a bit more about her trip to Japan awhile back. I tried to eat everything Japanese I could, she told me, making me so proud. One of the things I understand the least is when people travel to foreign countries and eat American food. Eating like (and with) the locals is most of the fun!

American Homesickness
Having said that, however, when Bill and I had our three month adventure in Europe, we were mighty homesick on the Fourth of July. By that time, we had been eating European food for over two months. And it was America’s birthday. So I bought a package of the smallest weiners you can imagine…..

….and a package of “hot dog roll” (apparently they thought there was only one roll)…..

I bought a can of cannelloni beans, added Italian catsup and mustard, along with some pepperinco juice, and called it baked beans. Bill went on iTunes and bought I’m Proud to be An American, and we had our own celebration.

Asian Dessert
While Addie and I were eating sushi, she told me that she loved the ice cream she got in Japan. It got me to thinking about the frozen dessert that Alyx treats her kids to…..

Let’s have some Asian shaved ice, I suggested. So we went and picked up Maggie Faith and her bestie Leah and went to a place called Meet Fresh for a genuine Taiwanese treat. We ordered two shaved ice desserts, and had a cool and delicious bit of fun…..

Ciao!

I can’t help it. I’m a sucker for those lists that show up on Facebook and other social media. They’re always ridiculous. And yet, I find myself looking for the 29 reasons why you should buy a short-haired dog or the 37 most effective weapons to carry on an airplane. Seriously, sometimes I will get to about number 10 and think to myself, that is 15 minutes of my life that I will never get back. Now, if the list has to do with the British royal family, I consider that time to be well-used. How else would I know what Harry and Meghan got Prince George for his half-birthday?

The one that most recently caught my eye was the 39 fashion mistakes that make me look older. Interestingly, they don’t mention the fact that the biggest reason I look older is because I am older. Sixty-five-and-a-half, to be perfectly frank. Yes, I have age spots on my hands.

I got to about number 19 or 20 before I realized that none of the suggestions of things to avoid have anything to do with me. For example, one of the suggestions is that I should avoid wearing poofy, highly-teased hair. Not a problem…..

Another suggestion is to avoid overplucking my eyebrows. If you will look at the same photo, you will notice that is also not a problem. I lost most of my eyebrows sometime between 60 and 61.

I also shouldn’t think about wearing old clothing that has sentimental value. I could be as sentimental as a blushing bride on her wedding day, and I still wouldn’t be able to fit into clothing that is more than six months old. The other day Bill and I went through our coat closet. We knew we had coats in there that date back to when the Carter Administration. One coat in particular had great sentimental value. It was a nubby white coat with a fake fur collar that my father bought my mother when she was a young woman. I’m sad to get rid of this coat because it belonged to my mother, I said to my granddaughter Dagny, who was watching me sort the coats. She asked why I don’t wear it, and put it on herself. It fit her perfectly. That’s why, I explained.

The list included a warning about allowing your hair go gray. Dye it purple, it said. I have seen a lot of older women who have dyed at least part of their hair an unusual color (blue or purple seem to be common). I think they are courageous. I simply couldn’t take the chance that seeing me with purple hair would cause someone I love to have a heart attack. It might be Bill. It might be Court. It very well could be any one of my grandkids (except Dagny).

Their final suggestion was this: Don’t wear stretch jeans. The first sentence I read was Stetchy jeans are the most comfortable jeans to wear. I quit reading at that point. I didn’t need any further information.

Honestly, I’m not uncomfortable growing older. And I’m well aware of the danger of trying to dress too youthful. I have given my daughters-in-law permission to pull me into a private room and give me the what-to if they see me wearing a pink Forever 21 sweatshirt with tie-dye leggings. Now I’m going to give that same permission should they see me with my hair dyed pink.

The other day I was having lunch with my 14-year-old grandson Alastair. He was telling me about his upcoming trip with the Boy Scouts, a trip he is on now, even as I write these words. He and his troop are hiking and camping in the mountains of Colorado for two weeks. He was looking forward to the adventure. I don’t want to be around him when he gets home. I’m assuming there won’t be a lot of showers involved.

“I’ve already started saving my money for next year’s Boy Scout trip,” he said between bites of his monte cristo sandwich. I asked him where they were going next year that required saving for an entire year. Are you ready for this?

Southeast Asia! In 2020, his Boy Scout troop will be hiking around Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, and who knows where else.

“Will you camp?” I asked, thinking about the many men of my age who camped — albeit reluctantly — in Vietnam in the late 60s and early 70s when they weren’t much older than Alastair.

He told me they would probably mostly sleep in hostels. Isn’t that something?

Earlier this spring, his sister Addie went on a school trip to Japan. When she asked her parents if she could go, they said yes, as long as she could save up enough money to pay for half the trip.

“I already have the money,” she said, because ADELAIDE GRACE. It’s how she rolls. I assure you that Alastair will have a more difficult time saving the money. It burns a hole in his pocket, you see.

Thanks perhaps in part to the two separate sabbatical trips the family has taken — one six years ago when they drove an RV around the eastern part of the United States and one last summer when they drove an RV around the western part of the United States — those kids like to travel. So do their parents…..

Travelers, all.

When I was a teenager, and frankly, even when I was a young adult, I didn’t think I would ever travel very much. That was perfectly fine with me. I wasn’t particularly curious about how the rest of the world lived. I did have some desire to travel around the United States, and was lucky enough to be able to be able to visit some of the cities about which I was curious even before Bill and I got married.

On the other hand, Bill always had a yen to travel, especially to Europe. When his kids were younger, he was unable to make that happen. Ironically, two of his three kids tread on European soil before he made it over there. But we hadn’t been married very long when he started making plans to travel. I reluctantly went along with his plans because, well, I certainly wasn’t going to stay home alone while he’s  sipping champagne in Paris. That’s why, however, the blog I wrote when we traveled abroad was called The Reluctant Traveler. 

We first saw Great Britain, France, and Italy, with a quick visit with relatives in Switzerland. And then we took our big trip to Europe in 2008, where we traveled for three months and at least touched the soil of most western European nations. Ah ha, I thought. This is why Bill wanted to travel. It’s fun.

I’m happy that my grandkids are interested in seeing the world. I believe it’s important to see that not everyone lives as we do in the United States. However, though I have enjoyed my travel — and am glad for any opportunities my grandkids have to see the world — poet Henry Van Dyke’s words express how I truly feel when I’m on my way home:

So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,
In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars
Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.

You all know how much I love my scooter. I always proudly presume I’m the oldest person in the Denver metro area who rides a scooter.

The other day, I rode my scooter over to the nail salon to get a pedicure. There was a woman standing in front of the nail salon when I drove up. As I got off the scooter, she told me, “I haven’t gotten my scooter out today.”

I don’t personally meet many people who ride scooters, and no one in my age group.  So I happily remarked on just how much fun they were.

“I used to ride to work downtown,” I told her. “But now I mostly just drive it around the neighborhood.”

She smiled, and said she did the same thing. However, she went on to say that she used to regularly drive her scooter to Golden. Now, only people who live in Colorado will appreciate that Golden is a good 30 minute CAR drive from southeast Denver, and that’s taking highways.

I noted that she must have a larger engine, because my 50 cc engine only goes about 40 mph, and isn’t legally allowed on a highway. Nope, she told me. Hers is only a 50 cc also. She just rode up to 32nd Avenue in north Denver, and drove it all the way to Golden. I didn’t ask, but it probably took her an hour or more to get there. She understands, however, that an hour on a scooter is like an hour in heaven.

“That’s how I got 52,000 miles on my 2002 scooter,” she went on to say. (For reference, my scooter is a 2001, and I bought it new. I have 7,300 miles on my odometer. I’m apparently just an amateur.)

As we ended our conversation, I tentatively asked her if she minded sharing her age with me. “Not at all,” she said. “I’m 79 years old.”

So there. I’m just a youngster in scooter years.

Have a great weekend.

Bright, Shiny Things
While we were in Estes Park celebrating our anniversary, we stopped into one of our favorite shops — a shop that sells blown glass items that they make right there. You can, in fact, watch them make the items. Bill suggested we have her make us something to commemorate our anniversary. However, it turns out that what we know about glass blowing could fit on the head of a nail. The whole process takes a few days. So, instead, he suggested I pick out a lawn ornament, and he would buy it for me. It took a long time, because they have so, so many pretty items. But given that yellow and pink are two of my favorite colors, that’s what I chose…..By the way, two seconds after he snapped this photo, it began to rain. We made it back to our room just before the skies opened up!

Nighty Night
I’m pleased to inform you that we actually went out yesterday afternoon and bought a bed. We have joined the masses of life partners who sleep on a king-sized bed. I clung to our queen-sized mattress for as long as I could. Of course, with upsizing one’s bed, one must also buy a new headboard, frame, bed linens, and so forth. And as long as we’re getting a new bed, I might as well get a couple of bedside tables on which I can place my iPad every night after I find I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. This, by the way, is usually about two minutes after I get into bed. Anyway, it will be delivered on July 8, and I’m very excited.

Pout Master
I had sushi lunch with Alyx and the kids yesterday. As we were preparing to leave, Cole asked if he could come home with me. I explained that I was going bed shopping and he would find that very boring. He begged and begged. He was very sad. I didn’t take a picture of him yesterday, but Court took this photo recently, and he nailed it. Cole is the master of the pout…..

Sweet Things
And if Cole is the master of the pout, Bill is the master of the cinnamon roll. There is no one who likes a good cinnamon roll more than he. I have written before about the cinnamon roll place in Estes Park, called (cleverly) Cinnamon’s Bakery. It is run by a retired midwestern baker, who moved to Estes Park a few years ago to open this business that operates from 7:30 a.m. until 10, or whenever they run out of cinnamon rolls (which they do nearly daily around 8:30). Bill has heard me speak about the amazing cinnamon rolls, but had never had the chance to try one. He got the opportunity this past week when we visited for our anniversary. This photo tells it all…..Ciao!

You may have noticed that it is June 26, and I have not yet written a single word about my beloved scooter. You KNOW I love my scooter, and by now I’m usually waxing eloquently about feeling the wind in my (very-short-and-covered-with-a helmet) hair as I buzz around town on my scooter with all 50 cc’s purring.

Towards the end of last summer, I began to notice a scraping sound somewhere in the neighborhood of my front wheel. It didn’t happen all the time, but when it did, it made me extremely nervous. My scooter (as most scooters) is noisy with many unidentifiable vibrations, but I can live with that because SCOOTER. This was different, because despite the fact that I didn’t take a class in scooter maintenance last week, I was pretty darn sure it had something to do with the brakes. One thing scooters cannot do without is brakes.

The thing is, it didn’t do it every time. So I would regularly come into the house after a trip to the grocery store on my scooter and tell Bill that it had happened again. He would dutifully get on my scooter and ride it around the block, only to return home and tell me it worked fine for him. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe me (or at least that’s what he told me), but it’s hard to diagnose something that doesn’t happen. My mom always said Bill was a genius, but even geniuses can’t solve nonexistent problems.

As soon as it got warm enough this summer, I blew the dust off the scooter, batted my eyelashes and got Bill to start it up for me, and took it for a ride. Sure enough, the scraping sound appeared, only this time, it seemed to make my front wheel immobile. I had had enough.

“Enough!” I shouted, and called Sportique Scooters. You need new brake pads, he told me without hesitation. (Mom might also call him a genius.)

I was too afraid to ride it to the scooter place. And though Bill offered to ride it for me, I’ve grown fond of him over the years and wasn’t eager to hand off the keys, saying with squinting eyes like Clint Eastwood, Do you feel lucky, Punk? Well, do you?

Instead, I arranged to have it towed to the scooter place. And yesterday, I picked it up and rode it home. The wind was in my (very-short-and-covered-with-a helmet) hair, and I was very happy. The brakes didn’t scrape. The tune-up they gave my little buddy gave me some get-up-and-go, though I assure get-up-and-go with a 50 cc engine means you might be able to hit 40 mph if you’re going downhill. But that’s just fine with me.

When I first got my scooter in 2001, I would ride it to the office. I wouldn’t have the nerve to do that today. But the fact is, I spend a lot of time in my ‘hood. I am happy as a dog with a new bone just to ride it to the grocery store or a neighborhood restaurant.

Nana: Born to be wild….

This week Bill and I celebrated our wedding anniversary in Estes Park, CO. Being married to the most awesome fellow, and being able to celebrate with him in one of our favorite places, is what made me smile. Here’s a shot of one of the most beautiful views in the park. Can you believe how much snow is still on that mountain?…..

Before going to Dunraven Inn for dinner, my sister Jen took this photo of us as we stopped for a quick one before heading off to dinner…..

Being able to still have fun with this man — and getting a couple of free drinks from the bartender to boot — made me smile.

Have a great weekend.

One More Year Behind Us
This isn’t just any ol’ Thursday. Today happens to be the 27th anniversary of my marriage to Bill. I would love to say that every single day with Bill has been nothing but wine and roses, because what marriage is? But he has brought so much laughter and fun and romance (in his own inimitable style) into my life. I am blessed that he puts up with me. This photo was taken on June 20, 1992. Look at those four kids in the front row. Now they have 11 kids among all of them! I wonder if the priest said something like “Be fruitful and multiply” during the wedding Mass, and they took it to heart.

Happy Place
To celebrate said anniversary, Bill and I drove up yesterday afternoon to one of our favorite spots — Estes Park. We love to stay at the Deercrest Inn because the grounds are beautiful and the sound of the river is relaxing. Our whole family has lots of great memories of Estes Park. The first year when Jen and Bec and I were there, I had made a peach pie to enjoy after we grilled our steaks. While eating the pie next to the river, the proprietor came over and commented on how good it looked. I gave him a piece. He proclaimed it to be one of the best pies he’s ever eaten. So taking a pie with me has become a bit of a ritual. Given the time of year, this time it’s a blueberry pie…..

And yet another photo of a homemade pie.

Bon Appetit
Yesterday, our grandson Alastair came over to mow our grass. He finished up the back yard, and I asked him if he wanted to go have lunch before he started on the front yard. He’s a 13-year-old boy, so what do you think his answer was? We decided to go to Larkburger, but when we pulled up, it wasn’t open. In fact, it looks quite like it will never be open again. So there was a French café right next door and we decided to give it a try. As we walked in, I told him I was going to have him order lunch in French, since he takes French in school. He declined; however, it was unnecessary. Though the name is Café de France, it wasn’t terribly French when it came to the food. I had, for example, a Rueben. Alastair had a Monte Cristo, which was about as close as it came to French food. But it was very good…..

Mahalo
And speaking of food, the other afternoon I took Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole to a poke restaurant that I knew served Dole pineapple whips. It was hot, and it sounded refreshing and delicious. As we pulled up, Mylee cried out, “They have spam misubi!” What? She asked if she could get one, and I told her she could. You may already know what that is, but I certainly didn’t. Spam misubi is spam, marinated and lightly fried, on sushi rice and wrapped in seaweed. It’s a Hawaiian snack food. Though she was somewhat reluctant to share, I convinced her to give me a bite. It was, frankly, quite good. Kaiya could barely sit at the same table. “I don’t like canned meat,” she informed me…..

Ciao!