Saturday Smile: Slime With a Side of Chips

Thursday, I spent the morning and part of the afternoon with my great-niece Lilly, who is 4. My niece Maggie asked me if I could watch her so that she could volunteer to be a chaperone for Lilly’s brother Austin’s field trip, and I was happy to oblige. When I saw Lilly the day before, I mentioned that perhaps we could make slime, and SHE WAS ON BOARD. Did you know that slime has become such a THING that now it is hard to find Elmer’s glue on the grocery store shelves? I can confirm the truth of this statement because I tried buying it at Fry’s Thursday morning, and it was no-go. Just an empty space where the Elmer’s glue should be. Luckily I was able to find a couple of bottles of this essential ingredient of slime at CVS Pharmacy.

While I have watched two of my granddaughters who are Slime Makers Extraordinaire — Dagny and Kaiya — make slime on numerous occasions, I will have to admit that my effort on Thursday was just this side of being an epic fail. The recipe I used calls for four ingredients: Elmer’s glue, shaving cream, contact lens solution and food coloring…..

I’m blaming my failure on the contact lens solution that Lilly and I found in Jen’s bathroom. I think it might have been too old and the boric acid didn’t work properly. At any rate, for the most part, Lilly was happy with our final product (though she didn’t particularly like the Getting Dirty part of it all…..

But you know what kind of dirt doesn’t seem to bother this little girl? The mess produced by eating a meatball sub from Subway. She informed me that she always gets potato chips and a Sprite along with her sandwich when her mommy takes her to Subway. I later learned that she might have stretched the truth about that just a smidge.

This face made me smile…..

I think she’s making this face because I fell for her story about potato chips.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

Where’s the Beef?
Yesterday Bill and I celebrated Valentine’s Day by going to morning Ash Wednesday Mass which included receiving ashes on our foreheads, and then eating a decidedly un-Valentiney lunch (at least for Bill) of fish tacos. Not eating meat on Ash Wednesday and every Friday during Lent is absolutely no sacrifice for me. However, Bill struggles a bit more with the no-meat thing. He did seem, however, to enjoy his fish tacos. He announced Tuesday night that he was giving up sweets for Lent. Now THAT, my friends, is big for him. His enormous sweet tooth will make that a sacrifice, indeed.

Wash Your Face
Every year after Bill and I receive our ashes, we disagree on how long to wait before we wash our face. In elementary school, I was instructed that I should proudly wear the ashes all day long, thereby proclaiming my love of God and willingness to sacrifice. Bill always removes his ashes immediately, citing the gospel in which Jesus tells us not to be like the hypocrites who act like they’re holy but aren’t. Yesterday I found myself agreeing with Bill. In the Gospel from Matthew, Jesus said, “But when you fast, anoint your head and WASH YOUR FACE, so that you may not appear to be fasting, except to your Father who is hidden.” Boom. I promptly washed my face when I got home.

Eating Sausage
After eating dinner last week at the German restaurant, I have been craving sausage. I ordered (and ate) the knackwurst and it was delicious. But my favorite sausage (well, next to bratwursts, which will always be my MOST favorite) is landjaeger, a sausage with the texture of a hard salami. I began thinking about where I could find landjaeger. Suddenly it occurred to me that you can get anything from Amazon. Sure enough, they had landjaeger. I ordered it, and thanks to my Amazon Prime membership, received the sausages yesterday. I wanted to tear them open immediately, but see above. Ash Wednesday. I will indulge later today, with my Dad watching me from heaven…..

Laser Hot
The other thing that I ordered was one of those cool laser thermometers. Usually Bill is the one who orders cool high-tech things, but I take full credit for this particular item. My oven at our AZ house is highly unreliable, and I read on the internet (so you KNOW it’s true) that those laser thermometers are the most accurate way to know how hot your oven is. We’ll see.

Black and White
I just finished a very good book entitled The Woman in the Window, which I will review soon. As part of the plot, the main character watches old movies, and they are described in great detail. In particular, the author talked about a movie entitled Laura, starring Gene Tierney, Clifton Webb, Dana Andrews, and Vincent Price. I had never heard of it, and learned from Wikipedia that it had been named as one of the top 10 mystery movies by American Film Institute. I checked the public library, and sure enough, they had a copy available. I watched it on Tuesday. I really enjoyed it, mostly because I really love old movies. But Gene Tierney, an actress with whom I was unfamiliar, was exceptionally beautiful and reminded me of my mother…..

Something about the eyes (though admittedly, I never saw my mother wearing false eyelashes). The music, particularly the title song, was amazing……

Vincent Price, however, has the worst southern accent I have ever heard.

Ciao!

Can I Help You With That?

The other day, I was leaving the grocery store. I was walking behind a man and a woman, about my age. They reached their car, and the man accompanied the woman around the car so that he could open the door for her. She got in; he closed the door and began walking around the car again to get in himself. I was so taken aback by this unusual act of old-fashioned courtesy that, without thinking, I blurted out, “I can’t remember the last time I saw a man open the car door for his wife.”

Now, this was kind of a risky thing to say. For one thing, I had no idea whether or not she was his wife. Also, the fact that they were complete strangers to me allowed for the possibility that he or she could have gotten very insulted by my words. But I lucked out. Instead of being insulted, he smiled and answered, “I know. I’m really proud of the fact that I always open the car door for my wife.”

That night when Bill and I sat outside to have our cocktail party, I told him about witnessing this action. Bill was kind of insulted. “I open the car door for you,” he said. That is quite true. Bill will often open the car door for me, especially if we happen to walk up to the passenger side of the car together. Frankly, I wouldn’t even begin to think that he would – or should – walk all the way around the car to open it for me. I am perfectly capable of doing so myself.

Courtesies such as opening car doors or walking on the side nearest the street or opening and/or holding a door for a woman have become not only outdated, but insulting to some. The old-fashioned side of me is sort of sad about that. I remember 30 years ago when someone – probably Bill – told me he appreciated the fact that after letting me into the car, I would lean over and unlock the door for him so that he didn’t have to fiddle with the keys. Remember those days before all you had to do is walk up to a car and it unlocks itself?

I wonder if boys and girls are being taught those traditional manners these days. I know that all of my grandkids learn to say please and thank you almost as their first words. That’s nice. And I noticed that when we were at Wilma’s funeral, every time 12-year-old Alastair was introduced to someone, he put out his hand for a handshake. Man, that made me proud.

I think I did a pretty good job of teaching Court manners. I recall teaching Court to step back to let me go first when we would get out of the church pew to go to communion. But I certainly didn’t teach him to pull out a chair for a woman. I wonder if he’s ever done such a thing. I wonder if anyone does. I remember that as part of his Catholic elementary education, he had to take Cotillion, where he learned a lot of etiquette, or did if he was paying attention.

I also encouraged – no, really MADE – him sit down and write thank-you notes for Christmas and birthday gifts that he got in the mail. My rule was that he didn’t need to write a note for all the gifts handed to him by uncles and aunts and grandparents. However, the gifts from grandmothers and great-grandmothers and aunts and uncles that came in the mail required a hand-written thank you note. That way they would know that the gift arrived safely.  I’m pretty sure it’s been 20 years since he wrote a thank you note. I’m not a whole lot better, I’m afraid. It’s too easy to email. Sigh.

There’s that fine line you aren’t sure whether to cross, you know, about courtesies such as pulling out chairs and helping with coats. As women continue to try and break through the so-called glass ceiling, the last thing a woman might want to do is to appear helpless. Still, courtesies such as these can go both ways. I often help Bill with his coat if he’s struggling in a restaurant or putting it back on at the end of our church service. He does the same for me.

Times change, and usually for the better. I will admit I miss some of the old etiquette customs, however. The days of men removing their hats when they enter a building are long gone. In this day and age, I’m just happy if the person sitting next to me at a restaurant isn’t talking on their cell phone or sharing their music with me.

Where’s the Baby?

Sunday Bec held her annual Mardi Gras party. It’s a favorite for all of the family. Everyone comes. Everyone eats. Everyone drinks. Everyone laughs. The kids – and there are always a LOT of them – play catch and hide-and-seek and the girl kids play something mysterious on the side of the house that we all try really hard not to think about.

Sunday, sometime late afternoon, as we waited for Erik’s gumbo to be just PERFECT, Grace (who is the eldest of Dad and Mom’s great-grandkids and drawing dangerously close to teen-age) wondered aloud, “What does Mardi Gras mean?”

I spoke up first. “It’s French for Fat Tuesday,” I explained. “It’s the day before Ash Wednesday.”

Her blank look told me she didn’t know what Ash Wednesday was. Given that she and her family are faithful church-goers, I had to remind myself that not all religions recognize Ash Wednesday or even Lent. And my explanation would not have particularly impressed the nuns who taught me about sacrifice during the 40 days prior to the joyous celebration of Easter. Lord knows Grace wouldn’t have understood the notion of getting ashes spread in the shape of a cross on your forehead.

At the end of the explanation, I simply said, “It’s the day you eat and drink a whole lot before you start a period of sacrifice in preparation for Easter.” That worked. Eating and drinking and celebrating are notions our whole family can understand.

There was jambalaya, gumbo, red beans and rice, maque choux, muffaletta sandwiches, and, of course, the final decadence – the King Cake. This year, there was not only a cake with a baby in it per the custom….

….but an additional dozen cupcakes in which a baby was inside one.  And believe me, ladies and gentlemen, it was all about the baby. Asher (left) found the baby in the cake, and Carter found the baby in the cupcake. Both managed to avoid choking, and proudly wore the hats indicating their victory (after eating the candy that was inside)…..

Sunday’s Mardi Gras celebration included almost all the great grands, with the exception of Court’s kids, who were in Denver.

We were able to assemble the great-grands for about a 30-second period, just long enough for Kacy to snap a photo.

Dave with three of his kids — Kacy, Jessie, and Christopher. Brooke was unable to attend.

Ava and Kelsie take a quick break from girl stuff. And, by the way, they both have new shoes and dresses. And Kelsie’s theory is that if one set of beads is good, 10 is even better.

Today is actually Fat Tuesday, and we will enjoy a good meal tonight. Tomorrow, let the fasting and sacrifice begin!

Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer, Do

When I was a senior at the Catholic high school I attended, my class went to a religious retreat somewhere. I don’t remember any of the specifics about the retreat as far as any spiritual benefits. Remember, I was in high school so I was more concerned about my make-up being applied perfectly than I was about saving my soul.

I have two memories of that retreat: The first is that the priest who led the retreat was a young man and when he said Mass, he passed around a loaf of bread from which each of us tore a piece. Given the Catholic belief about bread and wine, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to do that, but its impact on me has lasted 45 years. The second thing I remember is that there was an exercise in which we broke into small groups, and were asked to match a type of flower to each person in the group. I’m not sure of the purpose of that exercise. But I remember 45 years later that the flower name attributed to me was the daisy. The group proclaimed that the daisy matched my sunny personality…..

Fast forward 30-some years to 2003, when I bought my yellow Volkswagen bug. I knew I wanted a bright color, and I had it narrowed down to red or yellow. I eventually went with yellow because somewhere I had heard that cops stop more red cars than any other color. My guess would be that cops are less likely to stop a Volkswagen bug than any other car, but I have no data to prove that theory. Anyway, the first time I drove the car to my office, I parked it in the garage. As I got out, the director of Human Resources happened to be in the garage. She complimented me on my new car, and went on to say that she has never seen a car match a person’s personality like that yellow bug matched mine. I was surprised, and asked her why. You’re so cheerful, she told me.

I am amused when I think back to those two experiences, because I feel so far removed from joyful these days. It’s not that my life isn’t a great one full of wonderful people and experiences and blessings. It’s about my personal outlook, which often isn’t very optimistic. It seems like fear has replaced joy in my palate of emotions. I’m more cheerful than Eyore but less cheerful than Big Bird…..

St. Paul tells us that no matter what we are doing in our life, we should do everything for the glory of God. It only makes sense that if you live your life giving glory to God, you will be filled with joy. And if you’re filled with joy, you will please others by your optimistic spirit. It’s hard to be joyful and unkind at the same time.

Lent begins this week on Ash Wednesday, which falls on Valentine’s Day this year. Instead of “giving up” something, this year I’m going to concentrate on two things in particular. First, I’m going to remove myself from as much social media as I can. Specifically, I’m giving up Facebook, Instagram, and (gulp) Pinterest. I don’t have to give up Twitter because I haven’t quite figured out why people like it to begin with. I’m going to post my blog on Facebook every day, but not look at any posts. So don’t alert me to a disaster via Facebook. I’m not only giving up social media because it will be a sacrifice, but also to give my mind some quiet time in which I hope to be able to hear God speak to me.

Second, I’m going to try to approach life with joy each day. I’m going to attempt to avoid the negative approach to situations which I seem to have developed. I’m going to remember all of the good parts of my life and with Bill as my model, enjoy my half-full glass instead of my half-empty glass. Especially if it’s half-full of gin and tonic.

Beginning Wednesday, I’m going to go back to being a daisy who drives a yellow bug.

Saturday Smile: Dinner With My Dad

On a whim, last night Bill and I did something pretty random. We went to dinner at a German restaurant that we have been wanting to try.

We walked into Zur Kate Restaurant in east Mesa, took one look at the menu, and I time-traveled back to dinner with my dad. The Friday night special was Rouladen, which is thinly-sliced beef rolled around onions, bacon (or speck as my grandmother called it) and a dill pickle……

But it wasn’t the rouladen that reminded me of my dad. It was the knackwurst and the sauerkraut. And since I couldn’t decide, I had them both……

I don’t remember my grandmother making a whole lot of German food. I suspect she did, but not necessarily when she was cooking for me. However, I do remember her cooking a lot — A LOT — of sausage. Bratwurst, knackwurst, landjager (which was my favorite).

I also remember my grandfather waking up from his afternoon nap and playing his accordian, and I remember a lot of German polkas. My dad learned to play also, and I have memories of him playing also. So when this started up……

….it made me smile. Dinner with my dad.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

I’m Alive
I’m finally feeling somewhat like I’m back in the land of the living. It was nothing more than a cold, but this one kicked my butt like I was a skinny kid wearing high-water pants on a playground. I’m 95 percent myself, but I coughed with such force that I hurt my back, and that’s what’s been giving me the most grief the past few days. I’m going to do you all a favor and not post the photo of me sick again. That never needs to come out of archives.

Four Eyes
Yesterday I got a text message from my granddaughter Kaiya shortly after she got home from school. Guess what? she asked me. I’m getting glasses!!!!!!! She was very excited, and so I was excited for her. I asked her what kind of glasses she got. Here are her exact words: They are black, and on the top of the frame, it has like neon green and purple and stuff. It made me happy that she seems delighted to be getting glasses, because I recall just how much I hated hearing that news when I was in third grade and cat-eyed glasses were the thing. I guess even at 8 years old, I knew cat-eyed glasses were ugly. Kaiya is the third of my nine grandkids to get glasses.

Dagny was first…..

Then it was Micah’s turn…..

Kaiya is next…..

After she finishes her flexibility exercises. They all look so cute.

Another Cookie?
And speaking of granddaughters, Kaiya and Mylee are both Girl Scouts. What does that mean for this nana? Boxes of Girl Scout cookies to stick in my freezer. Or eat. Bill is partial to the Samoas; I, myself, think the Savannah Smiles are addicting. And then, of course, there are Thin Mints, frozen and delicious. I stepped out of the grocery store last weekend and was greeted by smiling Girl Scout faces. No can do, I told them. I have two granddaughters who will smell disloyalty.

Laissez Le Bon Temps Rouler
Lent is coming quickly, so I’d better get all of my decadence out of my system in the next few days. Bec will help, as she is having her annual Mardi Gras party on Sunday. I’m bringing the red beans and rice. We always have lots of fun, and there is always a lot of excitement about who stumbles upon the baby in the King Cake.

Ciao.

Guest Post: Loving Frank

By Rebecca Borman

Famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright is renowned for designing beautiful homes and buildings that blend into the natural environment. Many of them are in the Midwest, including a great number in Chicago. Wright designed homes in Ohio, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, New York, and even Oklahoma. And one of his winter homes was right here in Arizona. Taliesin West is located in Scottsdale – about 30 miles from my home, and it was Wright’s winter home and studio complex. As was true for all his structures, Wright’s design was greatly influenced by the natural surroundings, in this case desert and mountains.  Recently, I got my first look at this beautiful place.

The visit came about because I volunteer with someone who is intimately familiar with Taliesin.  She wondered aloud if any of us would be interested in a behind-the-scenes tour with her.  A half dozen of us said yes, and she set it up.  Most everyone who visits there takes a tour, because many areas are not otherwise open to the public.  We visited all those places.  But because our guide had lived and worked at Taliesan West from the time she was young, our tour was enhanced by her personal stories and insights.  For instance, as we walked through the living room, she reminisced about cocktail parties held in that room.  When shown the bedrooms that had been occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wright, our guide explained that her bedroom, when she lived and worked here, was very similar.  The rooms had permanent walls on three sides, but one side was open, with views of the desert and the mountains.  Then and now, canvas “doors” could be closed for privacy but still let in some air.

The architecture blends into the natural environment.

As she showed us the theater that had entertained many guests, she explained that those lucky enough to work there had done a little of everything.  Her job was in the office, but she also sang and played the violin for evening entertainments.  In between her office work and her performances, she would quickly change into an evening gown, help prep dinner, serve, and sometimes clear up.  Then it was time to sing and/or play her instrument with the chorus and orchestra.  She told us, “We were busy!  Sometimes our gowns were spotted with stains from the food we had served, but no one seemed to care.”

Taliesin West office and main studio

After we had seen the public areas, she took us up to the private sun deck, where we enjoyed the spectacular view and met her sister, who works and lives there now.  It was fun to imagine how often Wright and his apprentices sat up there and discussed a million things about architecture and life in general.

And speaking of apprentices, young men and women still study at Taliesin, which currently houses an architectural school.  There is no undergraduate program, but someone with a Bachelor’s degree can earn a Master’s degree.  And, others come to study as enrichment, but don’t have to enroll in an institutional program.  We met one of the Master’s students, a young man who is in his fifth year there.  He sounded regretful when he said he would probably graduate in the spring.  I believe he would like to stay there indefinitely.  And, he showed us what was, for me, the most interesting part of the tour, and something the public tours never see — the student residences.

Since the time of Frank Lloyd Wright and continuing today, students at Taliesin stay there, and build their own housing.  Taliesin West is built on a large acreage, and students build or rebuild a site in the surrounding desert, in which they live while in residence.  These are essentially tented constructions on slabs……

Naturally, students are encouraged to be creative in their designs, and every structure is different.  Some are very simple; some are quite elaborate.  They are small, containing a bed and a fireplace, and perhaps a small table, but no closets.  All are open, with a roof of some sort.  They are either raised above ground or are surrounded by a short wall, to keep out wildlife.  We were shown one that was large enough to house a family, and our friend said it was exactly the type of construction their family lived in when her father apprenticed there.  I took many photos of the designs that dot the desert around the house.  I wondered what it would be like to walk in the dark through the desert to your bedroom.

Frank Lloyd Wright was, by many accounts, a difficult man.  But his creativity, not only in his designs but also in his way of viewing the world, had a tremendous impact.  It’s apparent that those who really knew him looked beyond his foibles to the talent and energy of a man who took the architectural world by storm.  Now, I feel that I know him a bit better myself.

Nightshades Kill

This past Saturday morning – the day before Super Bowl LII – I think Tom Brady and his wife Gisele greeted each other in the kitchen where she was making them a hearty breakfast shake consisting of protein powder, non-dairy milk, and one blueberry. The Brady’s conversation went something like this:

Tom: Hey, Gisele, what do you think we should do this weekend?

Gisele: Don’t you have that thing this Sunday, Tom?

Tom: Oh, dang. I keep forgetting about that. And then there’s the stupid victory celebration afterwards, where BKraft takes us to a steak house. They never have avocado ice cream at Morton’s.

But then Sunday night after the Patriot’s defeat by the underdog Philadelphia Eagles, after Gisele had finished her glass of white wine in the owner’s box, and after Tom had gotten his massage and showered and dressed and made sure his hair was perfectly coiffed, they met up.

Tom: Tough night, Gisele. I don’t care what you say. I’m saying SCREW IT.  I am going to have me some NIGHTSHADES tonight. You’re not the boss of me.

Gisele: Look at me, Tom. Yes I am.

As I layed forlornly in my Lazyboy recliner covered from head to toe with an afghan despite the fact that the temperature was 80 degrees, I watched some of the pre-SuperBowl fluff. One of the things I watched was an interview with Tom Brady, during which he talked about his mother. He loves his mother. Tom talked about how much it means to him that she was there to watch him play that day. My heart softened. I, too, am a mother.

As I watched, I lazily looked at news that Google has decided I’m interested in on my iPad. One of the stories that appeared as I meandered through the information being fed me was an article in which it stated that Tom Brady has never eaten a strawberry nor drank a cup of coffee in his life.

And just like that – poof — Tom Brady annoyed me once again. I’m really glad he loves his mother, but you can’t trust a human being who has never started the morning with a cup of joe. Has the man never, EVER had a hangover?

Never mind that I’ve been sick for three days with an unending cough, chills, and aches and pains in areas I didn’t even know I had. Don’t try to make me drink a cup of green tea with rose hips and flax seeds for breakfast. And I don’t just want a strawberry. I want many strawberries served over pancakes and covered with real maple syrup. And then maybe some canned whipped cream sprayed on top for good measure. And then some more sprayed directly into my mouth.

It’s hard to argue health with a man who is 40 and still plays football like a college quarterback, and who looks like he’s ready to go through rush at the University of Michigan. Let’s face it: he looks like this…..

…..and I look like this…..

Maybe a bit better on a good day.

Okay, I’ll go along with his meat-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, sugar-free, and flour-free diet. It’s not for me, but I’ll throw him that bone. (Oh, wait, he can’t eat bones either.) But no nightshades? I had to look up what a nightshade was. Here are some nightshade fruits and vegetables: ashwagandha, capsicums, cayenne pepper, curry spice, goji berries, kutjera, tomatillos, all peppers, and most tomatoes.

Tom Brady’s health might be enviable given the fact that he and his Patriot teammates have participated in so many Super Bowls that my 8-year-old grandson Joseph – who lives with his family in Vermont – thinks Super Bowls are just the normal last game of a really long season. But you will have to rip that jalapeno pepper out of my hand before I’ll give it up. Ashwagandha and goji berries, maybe. Mexican food, never.

Down For the Count

There will be no Nana’s Whimsies today. This has been Nana for the past three days….

 

Despite dutifully getting a flu shot, I have been down for the count with coughing, sneezing, aches and pains.

I hope to return to the land of the living today, and return to the blogosphere tomorrow.