Category Archives: Whimsies

Is It Soup Yet?

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When I was a wee tike (I begin writing with a Gaelic slant as it nears St. Patrick’s Day despite my lack of any Irish heritage), I watched Captain Kangaroo every day. I watched it because I loved the Captain and Mr. Green Jeans and Bunny Rabbit and Mr. Moose and all the characters. Now that I’m older, I see that the creators didn’t spend a lot of time coming up with clever names for their characters. Once they thought up Captain Kangaroo based on his big pockets, they were apparently worn out.

Anyhoo, what I didn’t realize as a child was that I was also learning things. To this day, I will hear a piece of classical music and recall it from Captain Kangaroo.  I also became familiar with some really good children’s books as I listened to the Captain read to me. Remember Ping, and Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel and Make Way for Ducklings?

But my favorite by far was Stone Soup, by Marcia Brown. It was the story of some soldiers who enter a village. They are hungry, but the villagers won’t give them anything to eat because they are strangers. The crafty soldiers tell the villagers they will make them Stone Soup. The villagers had never heard of such a thing and were intrigued. The soldiers place some stones in a pot of water and bring it to a boil. Soon they sigh and begin telling each other how some carrots would improve the stone soup so much. One of the villagers, still intrigued by the idea of Stone Soup, offers some carrots. Soon the soldiers have tricked the villagers into donating more vegetables and some meat, until they have a delicious soup.

During Lent, we are asked to pray, fast, and give alms. Of course, Catholics don’t eat meat on Fridays during Lent, but this never feels like a sacrifice because I love fish and seafood. Instead, it seems like a way to serve shrimp to Bill and blame it on the Pope.  But one way I can sacrifice is to eat simpler meals throughout Lent. Soups, for example.

My mom made good soup. When she and Dad owned the bakery and coffee shop in Leadville, she offered her customers homemade soup every weekday. Chili every day, and a second soup that varied each day. Cream of Broccoli, Cream of Mushroom, Minestrone, Clam Chowder, Ham and Bean, Split Pea. I’m getting hungry.

Mom made a Vegetable Beef Soup that I often crave but never make. She used a beef shank and the soup cooking with that bone gave it a rich, beefy flavor that was simply delicious. Quite frankly, I never make it because I’m afraid it won’t taste like hers and I will miss her too much.

Yesterday my sister Bec, having read the blog post from the previous day in which I whined about not having a car, took pity on me and headed my way in order to be my chauffeur. Remember this, Kids: Whining pays big dividends. To repay her generous spirit, I invited her to dinner. A steak would have been a great thank you, but instead I served her beef and tomato macaroni soup. Not with a beef shank but with ground beef, tomatoes, and macaroni….

The temperature got down to a brisk 58 degrees at sunset (I’m kidding all you people who are currently shoveling snow) and the soup tasted good. Stone Soup without the stones.

Here is a link to the soup.

A Long Way to Walk

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Yesterday I was riding with my new friend Levi-the-Uber-Driver to Best Buy to see if the Geek Squad can figure out why my three-month old laptop computer won’t turn on. Two things in the previous sentence hint that yesterday was not a super day. Uber driver and Geek Squad.

Yep. My computer is wonky and my car has a flat tire. Cool. A bifecta!

But, I reminded myself, no matter how crabby it made me, my life was easier than the life of the man that they had to wheel out of the church to a waiting ambulance.

It’s all in your perspective, my friends.

There is a family that goes to 9 o’clock Mass every Sunday at our AZ church. I have mentioned them before because I find them fascinating. Distractingly fascinating, in fact. So distractingly fascinating that after Mass, I told Bill I was going to change my weekly seating area choice. (Catholics always sit in the same seats at Mass. It’s as if God has a seating chart just like kindergarten teachers.)

What I find interesting about the family is its sheer numbers. And what diligent churchgoers they are. I’ve never spoken a word to a single member of this family, but this doesn’t stop me from being certain I have them figured out. There is a patriarch and a matriarch, three daughters, two sons-in-law, numerous grandkids. And then there are the families of the sons-in-law who also join them in their pews.

All in all, there are over 20, and they take up two pews. A few come early and stand sentry to make sure no one tries to infiltrate. Ask my sister Jen. She made the mistake of trying to sit in what looked to her like an available seat and got shot down cold. Those seats are taken, they explained firmly. Like in the old days when people paid lots of money to have family boxes.

Recently new people have joined their group— a single mother of four extraordinarily naughty children. She wears no wedding ring so I believe her husband to be in heaven. You know, heaven — where his four kids might never be if they don’t straighten up and stop giving their young mother such a hard time. Perhaps her four disobedient children are why she wears no wedding ring, but I’m sticking to my dad-in-heaven scenario. In my scenario, her husband was related in some way to this family and died tragically, leaving a young mother with four rambunctious boys.

My brother often says don’t judge another until you’ve walked a mile in their moccasins. Despite the fact that I don’t think he owns moccasins, his point is well taken. So I tried very hard to not judge the children ‘s actions or the mother’s reaction to their misbehavior. Instead, I concentrated on praying for her, asking God to give her strength, grace, and wisdom. I might have let out a teeny tiny gasp when her youngest, a boy of about 5 or 6, pummeled her with his fist.

At breakfast following church, Bill and I discussed the children’s behavior and the mother’s reaction. She tried her darndest to keep them under control, but in doing so, she got nothing out of the Mass. Bill thought she should have stayed home, but I don’t like that idea. While I’m not much of a fan out of a Cry Room, perhaps that is a wise choice in this case.

At any rate, I am happy to not be walking a mile in her moccasins, and will continue to pray for her during my Lenten journey.

And sit elsewhere.

 

Saturday Smiles: Family Time

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It was easy to figure out what made me smile this week as we made a brief visit home to see family…..

A hot pot dinner with Addie to celebrate her upcoming 16th birthday.

Cole wrestling with Papa.

Papa and the four McLains.

The McLain Men

It was wonderful to see all of our Denver kids and grandkids. That will hold me for two more months.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Dark Sacred Night

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I got a feeling that I can’t let go.

Those are the words in the haunting theme song for the very popular television series featured on Amazon Prime called simply Bosch. The shows are based on a few of the earlier novels written by one of my favorite mystery writers Michael Connelly that feature Los Angeles police detective Harry Bosch.

I have been a fan of this particular detective series since The Black Echo, published in 1992. The words in the television theme song describe Detective Bosch’s approach to every murder he covers — he can’t let go until it’s solved. He runs into problems, he breaks rules, he angers both friends and foes, but he gets his job done. He can’t let go.

Over the years, Connelly has been wise enough to make Bosch change with the times. He has grown older; he has been kicked out of police departments; he has faced legal obstacles; he has lost loved ones; he has developed a relationship with his daughter; he’s even forged a relationship with his half-brother, the star of another of Connelly’s writing, Mickey Haller (The Lincoln Lawyer). But his approach to solving the crime, and his tenacity, has never changed.

That’s the reason why despite the fact that Bosch has been featured in 21+ novels, I’m not sick of him. Nevertheless, Connelly’s latest novel featuring Detective Bosch takes a different turn. This time, he meets Detective Renee Ballard, and together, they solve a cold case.

Ballard isn’t some beautiful police detective who runs in high heels. She works for the Los Angeles Police, and has a mysterious past. She sleeps on the beach. She is tough as can be. And when she gets to work one morning and finds a stranger going through files to which he has no access, she is taken aback. It’s Bosch, (now working for the San Fernando Police Department) who has once again gotten a cold case under his skin.

It doesn’t take long before the case gets under her skin as well, and together, Bosch and Ballard are a formidable team. They not only solve the mystery of who killed 15-year-old runaway Daisy Clayton, but in Connelly’s inimitable style, face and handle other issues along the way.

It is this reviewer’s sincere hope that the Ballard Bosch duo is going to stick around, because the two are tough and realistic. The ending hints on further books. Yay!

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Full Speed
Bill and I have made a quick trip back to Denver to take care of some medical appointments and visit our kids and grandkids. Since the plane landed at 7:30 Monday evening, we have really not stood still long enough to take a breath. Bill saw his research team and movement specialists on Tuesday. I had an appointment on Wednesday morning that was far from our house. Today includes eye appointments for each of us. In between those appointments, we have had a chance to see family and friends. There will be plenty of time to relax when we get back to AZ. Then I’ll whine about being bored and that I miss my family. Can’t win with me.

That’s Colorado For Ya
Over the weekend, Colorado was experiencing below-zero temps. It has been a bit better the past few days, but the chilly temperatures have been a bit of a shock to our system. They are bearable, however, and I’m thankful for no snow. Bill particularly dislikes the cold weather, but I will admit that it hasn’t bothered me that much. I have not even been wearing a coat, only a heavy sweater. What is bothering me, however, is the smog that we are experiencing from the inverted something-or-other. My eyes have been itching nonstop.

Foxy Business
It has been fun to see our foxes running around our back yard. They seem a little surprised to see us, however. They thought it was there yard exclusively. The other morning, one of the foxes had pulled a pillow from our outdoor furniture and had commenced to chewing. We caught them just in the nick of time. I promptly covered up our furniture. The foxes glowered at me.

Sweet 16
Our eldest granddaughter Addie turns 16 on March 19. Since we won’t be in Denver then, we took her out last night for dinner in her honor. I told her that she could choose the spot. She chose a place about which I told her a few months ago — Aki Hot Pot. Cooking a variety of mostly unique foods in a hot broth. We had a ton of fun…..

Addie seemed to really enjoy the food. Bill, as usual, took it all in stride.The heads-on shrimp took Addie a bit of getting used to…..

Ciao!

It’s All About the Baby

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Our family gets together for a lot of celebrations. And all our celebrations, of course, include delicious food. It’s in our genes (which makes it harder to fit in our jeans). But none of our celebrations is about the food as much as Bec’s annual Mardi Gras party held last Sunday.

I know. I know. Yesterday was Mardi Gras. But what working stiffs (at least what working stiffs that don’t live in New Orleans) can celebrate on the actual day? For this reason, Bec’s party is most always the Sunday before. It’s the favorite of all Bec’s many parties, I think. The day she texted the invitation, she had responses almost before she even put down her phone. Everyone likes the Mardi Gras party.

It’s easy to see why…..

Every year, Bec’s son Erik uses his enviable culinary chops to make jambalaya and gumbo. Lots of jambalaya and gumbo. This year I contributed red beans and rice, and Bec and I made some appetizers and sides.

The gumbo is the trick. At least, that’s my take on our Cajun offerings. I have made gumbo exactly once, and it was, well, just okay. The trick, you see, is patience. Lots of patience. Because the key is the roux, and the key to a good roux is a willingness to slowly stir and baby the roux until it is exactly the right color. Too light will result in a lack of rich and deep flavor. Too dark will result in a very expensive dish being thrown in the garbage. I am too impatient to make a good roux. Erik has the necessary patience, and this is the result….

Who dat say gonna beat dat gumbo?

There’s lots of beads and beer and zydeco music playing in the background. If it wasn’t for the palms and orange trees, we could have been in New Orleans.

This year, as every year, we finished off our meal with one of Bec’s King Cakes, a traditional Mardi Gras feature. The traditional King Cake is a yeast and flour and sugar concoction similar to a cinnamon roll dough. Bec makes a sweeter version. The most important ingredient, however, is the baby. As is tradition, each cake includes a little plastic baby figurine. Traditionally, whoever gets the piece that includes the baby hosts next year’s party. And, people, it’s all about the baby.

This year, because it coincided with Bec’s granddaughter Kenzie’s 13th birthday, there were three — count ’em — three cakes…..

The one on the right was baked by my brother Dave, and was the traditional version. The most important fact is that each cake included a baby. We each selected a piece from one of the cakes. Josey was the first to find a baby. Jealousy abounded.

And wouldn’t you know it? Bill was next. He spotted the baby almost immediately…..

See the baby’s little feet on the bottom of the cake? Kind of creepy, no?

He, being Bill, chose to torture the children the rest of the afternoon by carrying the baby around in his pocket…..

By the end of the party, the third and final baby had not yet been discovered. You can only eat so much cake.

This year, the girls added a nail party to the mix….

Lent begins today with Ash Wednesday. But our family certainly enjoyed the pre-Lent celebration.

Guest Post: Himdag It

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By Rebecca Borman

Recently a good friend invited me to go with her to tour St. Peter’s Mission, a Catholic K-8 school on the nearby Gila River Indian Reservation.  She worked with the school for many years and talks about it often. I was happy to take her up on her invitation.

We were there for about an hour; it isn’t a large campus, and school was in session, so students and teachers were busy.  It was an hour well-spent.  As we were driving onto the Reservation, Kathleen gave me a little background about the school.  It’s staffed by the Franciscan Sisters of Christian Charity and has many lay teachers, as well.  And it has a lot of local financial and moral support.  Kathleen said the teachers have the opportunity to see baseball and football games, because both the Diamondbacks and the Cardinals are big supporters.  In fact, Larry Fitzgerald sends tickets to the school any time there’s a home Cardinals game.  “And,” she said, “Joe Garagiola was a big supporter, too.” Sure enough, as soon as we drove onto the campus, I spotted the Joe Garagiola Learning Center.  It houses the school’s library and computer center, and several classrooms.  I asked how he got involved with the school, and Kathleen said she didn’t know for sure, but she suspected one of the sisters wrote him a letter and he became a supporter…..

As we walked around the campus we peeked into the library.  On one wall were two giant comic strips from The Family Circus and Peanuts, along with autographed pictures of Bil Keene and Charles Schultz.  I have no idea what the back story is, except that two rather famous men were obviously generous supporters of a small mission school in Bapchule Village, Arizona…..

The church on campus is small but beautiful.  I stopped to take a picture of the doors and noticed a sign thanking the Nelles family for the pews, floor and doors for the church.  I asked Kathleen how this family became involved.  It seems that they attended a service at the church and noticed that the floors and pews were in bad shape.  They offered to replace the floors, pews, and doors, even though they had no real connection with the school…..

As we finished our tour, my friend talked about Shea Construction.  Some years ago, one of the sisters wrote to Shea and described their need for more classrooms.  The company responded, donating building materials.  Sister wrote and thanked them and asked if they could kindly construct the buildings.  Shea responded that their charitable foundation was set up only to donate materials, not to do the actual construction.  Sister wrote back reminding them that they WERE a construction company, and the students really needed classrooms.  Shea responded that they wished they could do more, but rules were rules.  Sister responded that their students really, really needed buildings for their classes.  And Shea responded by building their classrooms.

Here’s where I’m going with this:  We live in a troubling time.  Politicians and their supporters are polarized, and it seems as if no one is interested in anything but his or her own agenda.  But, out in the desert is this school, whose Himdag (the Tohono O’odham term for cultural values) is Respect, Reverence, Responsibility.  Its students are smiling and friendly, probably because they are in an environment in which they feel loved and respected.  They feel a sense of hope, and as a result, many go on to high school and even college.  The school thrives because generous people, wealthy and not, famous and not, donate their support, sometimes a few dollars and sometimes substantial amounts.  It isn’t about power or politics; donors simply know these students deserve their help, and they step up.

A Horse is a Horse (Of Course, Of Course)

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I have mentioned in past posts — whined, even — that while most people have been successfully seeing the wild horses that live in the Tonto Forest near Saguaro Lake Recreation Area north of us, the horses have remained elusive to Bill and me. It was particularly frustrating this year, because the rain and chilly winter has resulted in the horses being particularly healthy and active. We would hear about literally herds of horses putting on a show for the masses. But not for us.

Until last Thursday.

Because on that glorious day, our friends Randy and Denise (we call them the horse whisperers because of their ability to charm the horses into visiting them) took us horse hunting. And the hunt, my friends, paid off in spades…..

At long last, we saw the wild horses.

According to the Salt River Wild Horses Management Group, these horses have been hanging around the area now designated as Tonto National Forest for centuries. One theory is that in the late 1600s, a Catholic priest — Father Kino — was developing missions and stockyards around Arizona, and left horses in his wake. These horses eventually became wild, relying on their own senses to find food. At their peak, there may have been as many as 500 wild horses or more, grazing alongside the bison.

In its own inimitable style, the United States government, at the behest of farmers and ranchers, actively began eliminating the horses. The Forest Service organized shoot-outs to help with controlling the numbers. Fun times.

Now, according to a volunteer with whom we spoke on Thursday, there are guesstimated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 120 to 150 horses. One of their biggest challenges is keeping the interested tourists from feeding the horses. In order to maintain their “wild” status, the horses have to be completely self-reliant. The volunteer recently stopped a family from feeding the horses the watermelon that they had brought with them for that purpose.

The reason the horses are so accessible to interested visitors, by the way, is that they graze on one side of the Beeline Highway, but find water on the other. So nearly every evening around sunset, you have a good chance of seeing horses crossing the highway at spots where there is a V in the fence so they have easy access.

The horses were everything I had hoped for. I was afraid this hunt was going to be unsuccessful because we drove up to the lake midafternoon. When there was not a horse to be seen, I got somewhat despondent.

“Never fear,” Randy told me. “We’ll find them after beer.” He consoled me with that statement so often that we began to refer to BB (before beer) and AB (after beer).

The Saguaro Lake marina has a boat dock that features gift items and, well, beer. The four of us enjoyed a cold one while we waited for the sun to make its way across the sky towards sunset…..

While we waited, we laughed at the birds that awaited some morsels of food. They were so confident that we figured their patience must often pay off. Denise and I thought they looked like a choir, and she began calling them the Do Re Mi choir…..

It finally became AB time, and off we went on the hunt. It didn’t take long before we spotted the cars along the side of the road, the universal sign for there’s a wild animal in the area. We got out of the car just as the people began leaving. The horses were there, but they’ve gone back into the trees, a woman told us. I was dismayed, but Denise and Randy remained confident.

For good reason, because it was only minutes later when we began to see the horses emerge from the trees once again. At first we saw only a couple of tails, but soon, somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 horses made their appearance. I asked Denise to stand by me to document this historical moment. See the horses in the background?…..

We had a wonderful day, one I won’t soon forget. The wild horses, my friends, are not akin to the jackalope as I had begun to suspect. They are real, and they are beautiful….

Saturday Smile: Money Money Money Money…..Money

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This past Thursday was the last day of the month, which is also the day my PERA paycheck is deposited. I remember how eagerly my grandmother awaited the arrival of her Social Security check each month via snail mail. (At that time it was called simply mail.) That’s me on the last day of each month.

In addition to my PERA deposit, I also receive a check from an investment account. That check is reliably deposited on the last day of each month as well. Except for February. Apparently the fact that February only has 28 days throws a kink in the system, and my money doesn’t show up until a day or so later.

Nevertheless, I checked the status of my account on Thursday morning and that was exactly as it played out. My PERA was there, but my investment money was not.

“I want my money,” I whined to Bill.

And that made me recall a video I had received from Court and Alyx about a year ago. I laughed a year ago, I laughed Thursday, and I will laugh every time I watch Cole…..

I agree Cole. I want my money.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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Paint the Town Red
Bec celebrated her 70th birthday at the end of January. While I gave her a modest gift, I promised her that I would take her out for a nice lunch sometime soon. That sometime soon turned out to be yesterday, when Bill and I treated her to lunch at Durant’s Steak House. You remember Durant’s — the restaurant that is so red that any photos you take have a red tint to them. Just to prove my point…..

Truly, it’s impossible to take a photo that isn’t red. The food is tremendous, and I will say that we all had a very good time. How bad can your day be when you have a martini at 12:30 in the afternoon? It is lucky that none of us was driving, with Bec taking Lyft and Bill and I riding light rail. When I made the reservations, I told them it was her birthday. While I wasn’t entirely truthful, I was truthful in the sense that we were celebrating her birthday. They treated her with great kindness and many “happy birthdays.” And they even gave her a complimentary strawberry short cake that was — what else? — red…..

My Father’s Daughter
The other day I received an unexpected package. I was delighted — if perplexed — to see it was from a dear friend who lives in Omaha. She and I have been friends since second grade. When I opened the package, there was a book entitled The Baker’s Daughter. I don’t know if she’s read it or if the book’s title simply made her think of me. I was delighted, because BOOK. I have started reading it, and to my joy, it is very good. Furthermore, it is, in fact, about a baker’s daughter. That’s like me, except my parents weren’t Nazis. Just sayin’…..

Won’t You Be My Neighbor?
For the past week, I have been watching our new neighbor move into the house next door. I believe she closes on the loan tomorrow, and she and her 2-1/2 year old daughter will officially move into the house. Yesterday, as we drove into our garage, I saw that her garage door was open. I immediately spotted a little tiny pink tricycle, and it made my heart happy. But Bill quickly pointed out that from now on, we are going to have to be incredibly careful about backing out of our driveway so as to make sure we notice if that same little pink tricycle is on the sidewalk behind us.

How Don’t You Do?
On my first day of physical therapy, one of the therapists (not the one with whom I have been working, but another) came over and introduced herself. She had one of those handshakes that give me the willies. It’s hard for me to understand how a parent can raise a child and not teach them the simple act of a firm handshake. Now, I’m going to have to test all of my grandkids!

Where’s the Anvil When I Need It?
On Wednesday, I posted a photo of my potted herbs…..

When I went out yesterday to check on them, the thyme and parsley were fine. The dill, however, looked like this…..

I don’t know who to suspect. Maybe the coyote had the right idea about how to deal with the roadrunner. Funny that whoever the culprit was didn’t bother with the thyme and parsley.

Ciao.