The Thanksgiving holiday is winding down, and Bill and I say goodbye to a lot of our loved ones who have been visiting. Some are returning to Vermont, most are returning to AZ. Lots of love and hopes and prayers for safe travels to them all.
And now we move on to Christmas, which greets us with abundant cheer. In the meantime, here is a snapshot of our Thanksgiving holiday…..
Have a great weekend.
Nana’s Whimsies will resume Saturday, November 25. Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving.
Not only are my thoughts a day early, but they will be short and simple.
Gathering Family
More family arrived yesterday. My nephew Christopher, his wife Heather, and their four children (Grace, Noah, Asher, and Faith) walked into our door around 6 o’clock. They were a bit worse for wear, as they had left their home in Gilbert, AZ, at 3 o’clock yesterday morning and driven for 15 hours. They were all happy to be out of the car, hungry and tired. And in surprisingly good spirits. I had put a brisket in the crockpot early in the morning, and Bill shredded it and made it ready for beef sandwiches. The kids were surprisingly good considering just how long they had been cooped up in the car.
Sing Around the Campfire
The above-mentioned kids were yearning for snow. They won’t get it, however, something about which they are sad and about which I am thrilled. Playing outside and all that jazz. But last night was plenty chilly and they happily sat around the firepit, bundled up and wishing their Great-Aunt Kris had thought about s’mores…..
See Ya Tomorrow
Every year during the few days before Thanksgiving, I talk about doing my “last shop.” I always have great hopes that I will remember everything and won’t have to go back. I guess I’m not the only one, however, because when Bec and I stopped at the store yesterday afternoon, the cashier (a man I don’t know) said, “Well, I’ll probably see you tomorrow.” And yes, he probably will.
Ciao.
One of things I like about looking at pictures when you’re young and also meeting back with old friends you haven’t seen in a long time is, for me, it’s a glimpse of who I was. – Lea Thompson
Social media has its downfalls, there’s no question about that. Whining, bullying, criticizing, mean-spirited jibes, all can happen on a large scale via Facebook or Instagram, for example. On the other hand, I have developed relationships – and yes, I’ll call them relationships – via Facebook with people with whom I was only marginally connected in real life. Co-workers, high school acquaintances and so forth.
Let me tell you a story, one that will likely only be interesting to me. Please indulge me.
I lived the first 18 years of my life in the same house in Columbus, Nebraska. There were quite a few kids my age that lived in the neighborhood. A couple of girls next door, more next to that house, and more in the house next to that one. Catty corner from our back yard lived a family with a daughter about my age, maybe a year or two older.
She and I were very good friends. My sister Jen hung out with us too, but for the most part, it was Kathy and me. Privacy fences weren’t particularly popular back in those days, at least not in our neighborhood. So I could get to her house by running down the dirt path next to our unattached garage, through her backyard and into her breezeway, where I could knock on the door. Many times, however, especially in the summer, I would stand on my back porch and simply give her our mutually-agreed-upon beckoning call: Eee-Ah-Kee, Kathy, shouted at the top of my lungs.
If she heard – and she mostly did – she would respond in like manner. This meant we were both available to play together. We played dolls. We played tag and Red Rover and all of the games that kids played back then. Her mother was an extremely competent seamstress, and Kathy’s Barbie doll was considerably better dressed than mine in her store-bought duds. I also remember that Kathy’s mom and dad square danced. I knew nearly nothing about square dancing except that her mom had beautiful square dancing dresses that she made, because see above: an excellent seamstress. I loved those dresses.
Anyway, we went to different schools – she to public and I to Catholic. So once we got into junior high and busy with various activities, we sort of grew apart. So it’s safe to say that I haven’t spoken to her for 50 years or so. I’ve thought about her, however. As I’ve watched my grandkids play with their neighborhood friends, I’ve recalled my childhood friend. I, in fact, have looked for her on Facebook to no avail. Since she didn’t show up using the name by which I knew her, I figured she had either married and had a different last name, or wasn’t on Facebook. Every so often, I would check again.
The other morning, I got a Facebook Messenger notification from a name I didn’t recognize. I could only see part of the message and was afraid to click on it because I’m paranoid about being hacked. The part I saw was Is this the Krissy who lived…. And the rest of the message was hidden. Bill concurred with my reluctance to click on the message. I didn’t recognize the name, and I couldn’t image who would call me Krissy. I really don’t recall ever being called Krissy.
But being me, it drove me crazy. I looked up the person on Facebook, and she didn’t look familiar. I wasn’t smart enough to click on the “About” key, because if I had, I would have responded in a heartbeat.
Finally, my curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked on the message. There she was – my old friend from the neighborhood. I quickly responded, and we had the nicest series of messages back and forth, catching up via social media. She even reminded me that we buried “treasures” on that same path down which I would run to get to her house. Don’t you wish we could go dig them up? she asked me. Yes, indeed I do. I wonder what 7 year old girls would bury.
They say you can’t go home again, so it’s kind of nice when home comes to find you.
May a lightning bolt not come down from the heavens and strike me dead for what I’m about to say. Here goes: There simply aren’t all that many readings in the bible that place women in a favorable light. Ruth, of course, was a good and faithful daughter-in-law. The Blessed Mother was awesome. There was Martha and Mary, but frankly, the Gospel writers kind of portray Martha as a whiner. Mary Magdalen held her own. Esther took great personal risk to help the Jewish people.
But then there’s St. Paul and his infamous women should be subservient to their husbands. You know, the reading that priests and ministers each year try to convince 50 percent of the congregation Paul didn’t really mean it like it sounds. One step forward and two steps back.
But the Old Testament reading from Proverbs (31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31) that was read at this past weekend’s Masses is a winner. In fact, it’s good enough to repeat here:
When one finds a worthy wife, her value is far beyond pearls. Her husband, entrusting his heart to her, has an unfailing prize. She brings him good and not evil, all the days of her life. She obtains wool and flax and works with loving hands. She puts her hands to the distaff, and her fingers ply the spindle. She reaches out her hands to the poor, and extends her arms to the needy. Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; the woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Give her a reward for her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.
The language is somewhat old-fashioned, it’s true. While I work with wool when I do my handicrafts, it’s for fun and rarely to provide warmth for my family. I ply neither spindle nor distaff, having never spun anything into wool in my life. Yet, I like the reading. I particularly like the part where it reminds us that charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting, because man alive, don’t you realize that as you age? There had better be something other than my looks that keep my relationship with my husband alive and well. Because that ship has sailed.
I was eager to listen to our homily yesterday, first, because I like the priest/homilist very much, but second, the reading, the reading, oh the reading. I couldn’t wait to hear what he said about women being more valuable than pearls.
What he said was exactly nothing. Not. One. Word. At least not one word about the Old Testament reading. Instead he focused on the gospel which was so depressing that prior to Mass, as Bill looked over the Liturgy of the Word as he is wont to do, he leaned over to me and whispered sarcastically, “Wow, that’s certainly a cheerful gospel we have to look forward to.”
As we lead up to the first Sunday in Advent, which prepares us for the birth of Jesus, the Church offers readings that make you want to slit your wrists. End of days. You don’t know the day or the hour. Good reminders, all. But give us a break. I can’t wait for Joy to the World.
And then Matthew tells us that Jesus shared a parable with his disciples. He tells the story of the man giving three servants money. He gives the first servant five coins, the second servant two coins, and the third servant one coins. The first and second servants wisely invested the money and returned it to their master with a profit. The third was too timid to do anything but bury the money, so when his master returned, he could only give back the one coin he had received. The master is pleased with the first two guys, but calls the third guy a wicked, lazy servant.
What? Now Jesus is getting into banking? Seriously, that parable has always puzzled me a bit. It isn’t like the third servant stole the money. He gave it back, but without any interest. Is that so bad?
But maybe the point of the parable is not if or how we should invest our money. God has given us all gifts, and it’s our responsibility to take those gifts and share them with others. If we take the strengths and talents given to us and simply hide away in a room without using them for good, we are wasting our lives. We are like the third servant who was too fearful to take a risk. We want God to take care of us but shy away from the responsibility that entails.
Now, finally, as I ponder the meaning of the gospel, I am able to come back to the good wife in the first reading. The wife who works hard and gives of herself, who doesn’t sit back and watch soap operas during the day, but instead takes care of her spouse and her children and her neighbors and her coworkers.
I’m afraid that many days I would simply bury my coins in a hole.
Through routine school testing, it was discovered that our 5-year-old grandson Micah had vision problems. It turns out he has a severe astigmatism and is farsighted. Thankfully, we live in the 21st Century and his problem was discovered and is being dealt with. What makes me smile is just how darned adorable he looks in his new glasses……
…. but it doesn’t stop there. He got a haircut to match his eyeglasses in sheer coolness…..
The best news is that he and his family are coming for Thanksgiving and I will be able to hug him this very night!
Have a great weekend.
Helping the Pantyless
Back in September, I wrote a blog post about a recent trip to Estes Park. As part of the post, I mentioned that I had forgotten to pack a few things, including underwear. While I could find the other things, I simply couldn’t figure out where in Estes Park I could find underwear. This led to that, and I was able to find women’s underwear at a most unlikely spot – the True Value Hardware Store in Estes. Earlier this week, I got an email sent to my Nana’s Whimsies account. Here is what the sender, Sarah (a person unknown to me) told me:
Thank you so much for your post about finding underwear in Estes Park. I had a similar snafu with my trip and arrived today to find out I’m without any underwear for our trip. Oops! I will make my way down the road to True Value in the morning.
I am so happy that I could help her. But I was curious how she stumbled upon my humble blog. I Googled “underwear Estes Park Colorado” and lo, and behold, my blog post was the fifth link down. I don’t know why, but that make me smile. Nana’s Whimsies is here to help!
What Movie Are We At?
I mentioned the other day that Bec and I went to see Murder on the Orient Express. We went out to lunch, and then went to a 12:45 p.m. showing of the film. We didn’t expect the theater to be packed because of the movie we were seeing and the time of the showing. In fact, when we entered the theater, there were two elderly women already seated, and that was it. A few more folks dibbled and dabbled in, and it’s no surprise that they were all about our age. What made us laugh, however, is that the first two ads that came up on the screen were these: a funeral home, and an Alzheimer’s facility. Bec leaned over to me and said, “Well, I guess they know their demographic, don’t they?”
Frontier: Cheap and Bumpy
Bill and I flew back to Denver yesterday morning. Our flight was so early (6:25 a.m.) that we were in our Uber car by 8:30, and home by 9. I had read a flying tip somewhere that suggested if two people are flying together, they should book the window seat and the aisle seat. The idea is that if people are looking to book a seat, they are less likely to choose a middle seat, resulting in a greater possibility of getting a row to ourselves. So we tried it. After all, who else besides us would be stupid enough to catch a 6:25 a.m. flight? The answer is many people. Because the plane was entirely full. It seems many people were flying places southeast (Florida, North Carolina were two we overheard about) and Denver was the layover city. So we had a person sitting in between us. She nicely offered to give one of us her seat so we could sit next to one another, but we declined. I made mention of the fact that we might run into turbulence. She turned to me and said, “I’ve never flown Frontier Airlines before. Are their planes often turbulent?” I bit my lip to keep from laughing and explained that it wasn’t Frontier in particular, but that any flights over the mountains are often bumpy. As it turned out, the flight wasn’t bumpy at all. She had a seven-hour layover in Denver. Yuck for her.
Nana’s Home
The first thing I always do when my airplane lands is turn on my cell phone. As soon as it was turned on, I got a notification indicating a voice message. I listened to the message, which was from our granddaughter Addie. She asked if I could possibly pick her up from school since she had an early release and her mom would be tied up on a conference call. I leaned over the woman sitting between and asked Bill if he would be back from lunch by 2 because Addie needed a ride from school (we are down to only one car for this month). The woman between us laughed. “Wow,” she said. “They don’t even give you time to unfasten your seat belt.” Very true, but I am always happy to help, and that’s a fact. And here’s why…..
Ciao.
Bill and I caught a jet plane this morning at 6:25 a.m., heading back to Denver for Thanksgiving and Christmas. We will return to AZ on Christmas Day.
See you back here tomorrow!
I have been a fan of Agatha Christie since grade school. I know this because I have a vivid memory of our 6th grade teacher – Sister Amica – walking around our classroom while we were having quiet reading time, glancing down at the book I was reading and gasping in horror. She proceeded to take the book from my hands and held it up for the entire class to see as an example of a highly inappropriate reading choice. Was I reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover? No. I was reading Death on the Nile, a fine Agatha Christie novel featuring our favorite Belgian detective Hercule Poirot.
The book came – as many of my books did back in those days – from the Columbus Public Library. On the bottom left-hand corner of the book there was a stamp indicating it was a Crime Club Book. That, my friends, was my grave sin. “Criiiiiiime Cluuuuuub,” she practically hissed. It was the gun that triggered her anger. Ha, get it? Triggered?
I was an 11 or 12 year old who respected my elders, did my homework, and obeyed instructions from my teachers. Yet, even at that age, I recall thinking, “Really? You’re troubled by an Agatha Christie mystery?” Good thing my parents taught me to think for myself.
Anyway, I love Agatha Christie mysteries to this day, and Hercule Poirot is my favorite detective. History tells us Agatha Christie grew tired of Poirot, referring to him as “that annoying little Belgian.” She called him a “detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep.” That’s blunt. I, of course, disagree. But back to Poirot. His style is always the same. He does his due diligence with one trusty sidekick or another following behind him and doing his bidding. Using his “little grey cells,” he is able to solve the mystery. In the last chapter, he always gathers everyone into a room and proceeds to explain the who, how, and why. I don’t think I ever guessed a murderer in advance. What’s more, though I’ve read the books more times than I can count, I rarely remember the murderer. One of the few instances where getting old and forgetful comes in handy.
The exception to this phenomenon is Murder on the Orient Express. The reason I remember the murderer is because not only have I read the book a half dozen times, but there have been a total of four Murder on the Orient Express movies made, and I’ve seen all but the one that was made-for-network-television in 2001 and was panned. Well, true confession: There was a Japanese version made that I also missed. Seeing Hercule Poirot eat sushi is just wrong.
The most recent version is, of course, the one that is currently running in the movie theaters. Bec and I went to see it yesterday. She is as a big an Agatha Christie fan as I, except I don’t think she ever got busted in school for reading The Mysterious Affair at Styles. She probably covered the book up with brown paper. Anyway, I was very excited when I saw the preview for the movie because it is such a great mystery. However, I had two concerns about watching this movie. 1) Would it be as much fun when I knew the ending; and 2) How could anyone besides David Suchet play Poirot. As far as I’m concerned, he is the Poirot by which all Poirots are measured.
A couple of years ago, I took a class through the Academy of Lifelong Learning, a program offering educational opportunities for seniors. While others were taking Economics in the 21st Century, or Using Physics Principles in Everyday Life, I took a class on Hercule Poirot. Stop snickering. I loved it. It gave me the opportunity to talk to other Agatha Christie geeks about which actress was the best Miss Marple, or what was your favorite Christie murder location.
As part of the course, we watched two of the four movies. In 1974, the first Murder on the Orient Express movie came out, and it featured Albert Finney as the Belgian detective, with a slew of famous costars, including Ingrid Bergman. Then the Poirot series on PBS television offered their version, and the angels sang. David Suchet as Poirot, well, it’s just right. Fewer famous costars, but DAVID SUCHET.
So how does the 2017 version compare? Favorably, I’m happy to say. Kenneth Branagh, an Irish actor and director, stars as Poirot, and does a great job. He doesn’t try to copy Suchet’s Poirot, and that’s a good thing. Even his famous Poirot mustaches are different. This one is so big it practically needs it’s own dressing room…..
The movie featured a bang-up cast, especially if you watch a lot of PBS movies and television shows. I found myself trying to figure out where I saw that actor or on which show that actress plays a police detective. And I will watch any movie in which Judi Dench has a role, though this one was small.
As for knowing the ending, surprisingly, that wasn’t a problem at all. I watched the movie a bit differently than someone who didn’t know the murderer’s identity, but it kind of made it fun.
By the way, as I was driving home, I learned from the radio that it was World Kindness Day. If I had known that, I would have bought Bec’s ticket. But Poirot was kind at the end of the movie, so there was that….
Nana's Whimsies 