As you read this post, Bill and I are flying down the highway on our way from Denver to our AZ home. Nana’s Whimsies will resume tomorrow, just in time for All Hallow’s Eve…..
Category Archives: Whimsies
Saturday Smile: Fish Stories
While their mom and dad are out of town, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith are having themselves some kind of fun. Their Aunt Julie (Jll’s sister), being the brave woman that she is, took the four of them to a dude ranch to learn the way of the cowboy (and cowgirl)……
The three days will involve horseback riding, campfires, and, well, I guess fishing. Judging from these photos that she posted on Facebook…..
Addie, Dagny, and Magnolia all caught at least one fish or more. Quite frankly, Addie’s looks like a dolphin.
Lots of adventures, and they made me smile.
Have a great weekend.
Thursday Thoughts
Get a Job
Very often when I turn on my iPod in the morning, Google will give me an unexpected message: It will take you “X time” to get to work this morning. While it’s very kind of Google to take such good care of me, it always puzzles me. You see, I’ve been retired since November 2008. So, I always wonder where Google thinks I work. It doesn’t always seem to be the same, thereby implying that Google thinks I’m a job-jumper. While Google knows a lot about me, he/she apparently doesn’t know that I was at my last job for 20 years. Anyway, I got that message yesterday morning. It will take you 7 minutes to get to work at 7777 E. Hampden Ave. He/she was kind enough to give me the address, thereby implying that Google thinks I can’t remember where I work, perhaps because I change jobs so often. But since I had an address, I decided to check out just where it was that Google thinks I work. Much to my surprise, it was at our neighborhood Target. Now, if I was going to have a job, working at Target would be about as good as anything. Better, perhaps. Maybe Google has seen my checking account balance and simply thinks I really SHOULD get a job. Especially since the state pension plan folks have already told me (and everyone else on the plan) that we will get an increase next year over their dead bodies. And, by the way, it takes me way less time to get to Target than 7 minutes!
The Falling Leaves
When we moved into this house 25 years ago, we had more trees than we have now. In addition to the three apple trees and the pear tree that live in our back yard, we also had a cherry tree. We had additional aspens (we have lost a few over the years, the most recent being about two weeks ago when it toppled over onto our patio when it was dark outside and nearly scared the daylights out of us). In the front yard, we had a beautiful crabapple tree. Beautiful, that is, until it started getting crabapples that fell to the ground and made a mess. So that tree went away when we had some landscaping done. As a result, we really don’t have all that many leaves to rake up each fall. We do have a honey locust tree in the back yard that I have loved from the moment we bought the house. It had a perfect branch upon which we hung a swing that has serviced all of our grandkids through the years, though Cole got pretty short-changed. All that swinging brought an end to that particular branch, though the tree continues to be healthy. The good news is that the leaves are so small on the honey locust tree that they actually don’t necessarily need to be raked. The fallen leaves won’t kill the grass. When my miniature schnauzer – Fritz – was still alive, he would go outside to do his business and would come in covered in the leaves. He was like a little honey locust leaf vacuum cleaner…..
Where Should I Sit?
We are still without furniture, though that will change later today when Court comes to help Bill unload the Pod and move the furniture indoors. I can barely contain my excitement. All of the rooms echo, something that will be alleviated when there is some furniture, rugs, etc. Once we have some furniture, I will post some photos.
Spooky
When did it become A Thing to decorate your house with outside lights for Halloween. Being a lover of all kinds of twinkling lights, I’m not complaining. Just somewhat puzzled. There is a house down the street from ours that is decorated like those over-the-top Christmas decorated houses. The kids will love it. I have never been much of a fan of Halloween. Oh, I liked it when I was a kid, but I am certainly not one of those people who dresses up. But I like those who do. We are almost always in AZ for Halloween, and will be again this year, and our neighborhood there is pretty quiet on Halloween. We are lucky to get one or two little trick-or-treaters. That’s okay. More candy for us.
Ciao.
I Only Have My Shelf to Blame
Housework is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop-offs at tedium and counter productivity. – Erma Bombeck
Housework can’t kill you, but why take a chance? – Phyllis Diller
Above are quotes from two women who could be me, except for the fact that they are famous, made much more money, and are decidedly deceased. God rest their souls.
But they could be me because they apparently hated housework as much as I. Never mind the fact that both of them probably had live-in help once they became famous. I know I would not be cleaning my own toilets if I had big bucks. I also wouldn’t be making my bed, doing my laundry, or cleaning my kitchen floor. Oh wait. I don’t really do those anyway. Mostly Bill makes the bed because he sleeps later than I, and he almost always blinks first and washes the kitchen floor. When it comes to scrubbing the floor, I can be blind to dirt for a mighty long time. I do, in fact, do the laundry.
Bill and I spent all day yesterday putting a few things back to order. We moved a several pieces of furniture (those we can do by ourselves) back into their proper place. Bill made some progress to get his office back together, though there is still no room on our kitchen table to eat. Maybe a few more days when we can get somebody strong to help us.
But I did do some housework yesterday. Sanding and staining the floors required me to remove the bottom shelves from my pantry and remove everything off the pantry floor. Yesterday, Bill put the shelves back in place, and I began putting appliances and food and everything else that lives in the pantry back where they belong. But one thing led to another, and somewhere deep inside me I got some energy and willpower, and I began a thorough cleaning of my pantry. I didn’t know it was going to happen, so there were no Before photos.
I started with the shelves that hold my canned goods. Here’s a common practice for this nana: I want to make something for dinner that involves, say, cream of mushroom soup. I do one of two things. A) I add cream of mushroom soup to my grocery list without checking to see if there is any in my pantry, and there often are a couple of cans; or, B) I manage to walk the seven steps to the pantry from my kitchen table, look at my can of cream of mushroom soup, notice the expiration date was sometime during the Clinton Administration, PUT IT BACK ON THE PANTRY SHELF, and buy a new can which I use in my recipe.
So, with tremendous determination – and lots of noise – I went through my cans, one by one, and threw away any cans with expiration dates prior to October 2017. Longtime readers might recall that I did something similar one other time a number of years ago, and actually found a box of tea that had expired in the 1980s. The irony of that particular find was that it was a tea that I didn’t particularly like, but its expiration date told me that I had moved that tea to at least two different houses.
I’m happy to say that I didn’t find an expiration date any earlier than 2007, and then only one or two that went back that far. I filled up two big garbage cans with products that either carried an old expiration date, didn’t have an expiration date at all, or had a code that made no sense to me. In addition to expiration dates, I also threw away products that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I would never use. Oddly shaped pastas, cereals that I had tried and disliked, boxes that had only an eighth of an inch of product left and should have been thrown away a long time ago. I tossed raisins that had hardened to pebbles and marshmallows that wouldn’t soften in even the hottest hot chocolate. And by the way, I tossed a box of instant hot chocolate that barely made it into the 21st century.
I gathered appliances that I never use or were duplicates, and began yet another Goodwill pile. The only thing on my pantry floor now are big jugs of vinegar (and, by the way, in case there is some world crisis that requires the use of white vinegar, I have my entire neighborhood covered), and my toaster oven. I combined packages of napkins and paper plates. I threw away dozens of white Styrofoam cups, most of which were crushed or dirty, and which are supposed to give you cancer anyway, or so I’ve been told.
I filled up our big garbage can outside with my discards and waved goodbye when the trash man came later in the day and picked up the can and dumped it into his truck.
And while I don’t have a before photo, I do have an after…..
Now I have plenty of room to stock up on Thanksgiving necessities. Erma and Phyllis would be proud.
Happy to Be Home
Let me start out by saying that we are back in our own home, empty of furniture as it might still be right this minute. Joe finished putting on the polyurethane on Saturday, and gave us permission to walk on the floors yesterday. He said we can begin returning furniture to the rooms today.
I will admit that this whole process (and frankly I’m talking about the process that began in the middle of May when Bill first began taking down the 1970s wood paneling in the family room and ended when Joe shut the front door and put our key under the flowerpot) has not brought out the best in me. I repeatedly had to remind myself that I was being inconvenienced BECAUSE I WAS HAVING WOOD FLOORING INSTALLED IN MY HOME. There are people in Texas, Florida, and Puerto Rico who don’t have homes.
Most of the summer Bill listened to me worry that he was working too hard. And that makes me sound kind, which isn’t exactly true. I’m shying away from substituting the more appropriate word nag for worry. And then about the time I begged him to stop working, I began griping about how long everything was taking. Happily, I neither drove him to drink nor have needed to hire a divorce attorney.
The past week-and-a-half, during which we have wandered around Colorado as the finishing touches were completed have been almost surrealistic. While the hotel in which we finally landed and spent the majority of our time was a mere 10 minute drive from our house, it felt as though we were in a different country. We would drive over to our house in the morning to check out the work from the night before; other than that, we pretty much spent our time in the relatively small hotel room. We weren’t quite sure how long we were going to be there. By Sunday night, we had lost our will to eat another meal in a restaurant and had Dairy Queen for dinner. So there. My body was yearning for a home-cooked meal.
But this week is Fall Break for all of my Colorado grandkids. The McLains are at a dude ranch for a few days with their Aunt Julie (because you will recall that their parents are traveling in India). I spent yesterday with Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole, and we had ourselves a rip-roaring time.
We started out at Noodles for mac and cheese. Or Noodles & Company, as Mylee always corrects me. Once we left the restaurant (likely to cheering once the door was closed, at least by the woman who sat in the booth next to us and had to listen to Cole yell, “Abracadabra, Nana is asleep” and “Abracadabra, Nana is awake,” about a million times), we headed to Monkee Bizness, a children’s indoor playground. Lots of running around and going down slides…..
But you can only slide so many times, so our play date took us next to Wildlife Experience, a sort of indoor zoo/museum operated by the University of Colorado. And, my friends, that was the hit of the day….
At the end of our wanderings, they have an exhibit called Storyland. There are a variety of play stations based on famous children’s books. Cole let out a squeal when he saw Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, which is clearly his favorite book, and one I’d never heard of.
In addition to learning Cole’s favorite book, I also learned that Mylee wants to be a police officer when she grows up, and demonstrated that fact by putting on this cap (which is actually a pilot’s cap, but I certainly didn’t spill those beans)…..
The Storyland exhibit was the favorite of the day. And the day was the best one I’ve had in a long time…..
Can you blame me?
Far Away Places
When I was growing up in small town Nebraska in the 50s and 60s, we didn’t do a lot of traveling. We took a family vacation once a year —usually to Colorado—and we made occasional trips to visit aunts and uncles who lived near us in Nebraska. Maybe twice a year, we would drive the 65 miles or so to Omaha to shop, but it was a Big Deal.
I laugh about that now because I really don’t think much about driving the 65 miles to Fort Collins to see Jen for the day. And the round trip mileage from our AZ house to Bec’s is in the neighborhood of 40 or 50 miles, a trip I make without a second thought. It is not at all unusual to put 50 miles on my car’s odometer in a day if I’m doing a lot of errands.
I didn’t set foot onto an airplane until I was out of high school. Air travel was so different back then (when dinosaurs walked the earth). Stewardesses (for that’s what they were called) wore high heels and perky caps and fed you miserable little meals on tiny plates that balanced on a relatively normal-sized tray that was large enough to also fit a beverage. Whaaaaaat?
I flew across an ocean for the first time to Hawaii when I was in my late 20s, and finally went to Europe when I was 40 years old.
Times are so different now. Despite the fact that the flying experience is so much more unpleasant than it used to be, flights are cheaper. What’s more, the internet makes communication easier, making travel less, well, scary and isolated.
As I write this blog, one of our children and his wife are traveling in India. INDIA. Our children have traveled plenty, more power to them. But India. While they were both very excited to be able to have this experience, I think even they were somewhat leery. The trip advising team told our meat-loving son that it might behoove him to limit his meals to vegetables. India is very far away and oh-so-different from the good old U.S. of A. In fact, oddly enough, the time difference is 11-1/2 hours. I don’t know how that even happens.
As a sign of the times, their Facebook posts and email communications have allowed those of us who stayed on domestic soil to keep track of them, thanks be to God.
On Saturday, Bill and I stopped by our house to see how work on our floors was progressing. (Very nicely, thank you very much.) Where do you want to have lunch, Bill asked me.
Dare I tell him?
“To be honest,” I said carefully, “all this talk about their trip to India has made me hungry for Indian food.” I assured him I would be happy to go by myself and he could find himself a nice, juicy burger.
“No, I’ll go with you,” he said.
And so for one day we ate the way Dave was probably eating, without the fear of parasites……
My camera (and photographic ability) make this food look less appealing than it actually was, which I assure you was yummy.
But it once again made me think about living in the 50s in Small Town America. No Indian food. In fact, no Mexican food, no Chinese food, no pho, no falafels, no sushi. Fried chicken, meatloaf, steak. Not that there anything wrong with that.
For the next two weeks or so, my prayers will be directed towards India, even if I’m not.
Saturday Smile: A Day in the Life of a Birthday Boy
It’s not every day that a guy turns 75. Bill did a bang-up job of it, I must say. Especially given the fact that we are still wandering from hotel to hotel.
Actually, we have settled into a very nice hotel a couple of miles from our house that is suiting us just fine. We may move home Sunday or Monday. And then I will have to start making my own bed.
So Bill started his day with many birthday greetings from siblings, in-laws, and friends, most via technology….
We made a quick stop at home to check out our floors, and Bill got an unexpected delivery from Amazon. His brother Bruce — who knows Bill well — sent him some happy birthday Oreos…..
And of coursr course when you ask the man who was born and grew up in Chicago what he wants for his birthday lunch, he will choose an Italian beef sandwich every time. Lunch at Chicago Mike’s in Centennial with a Italian beef combo…..
We got ready to call our Uber to take us to dinner with friends only to discover we were both wearing red. Living in a hotel doesn’t allow for a lot of clothing choices, so we went as twins…..
We finished enjoying a delicious steak dinner with wonderful friends John and Carol…..
So much revelry, but a whole year to rest up until his next birthday!
Have a wonderful weekend.
Friday Book Whimsy: Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis
I’m not a big fan of nonfiction unless it is a topic about which I have a great interest. Life in the hills of Appalachia is a topic I find entirely compelling. It’s why I am such a fan of fiction – particularly mysteries – that take place in the area designated Appalachia.
Hillbilly Elegy, a memoir written by J.D. Vance, therefore captured my attention despite it being a memoir. I very often find memoirs self-serving and uninteresting. Hillbilly Elegy caught my attention from the get-go, and kept it throughout the book. Well, almost. Even the most interesting memoirs can get tedious when the author is talking about certain points in his or her life.
Mr. Vance is a former Marine who graduated from Yale Law School despite his difficult childhood. He uses the word hillbilly, a term with which I find myself somewhat uncomfortable, despite the fact that I occasionally use it to deprecate myself as part of my humor. I guess that’s why its serious use makes me squirm a bit. Still, he uses it to describe himself and his family.
Vance’s grandparents moved from Kentucky to Ohio when they were newly married. According to the author, a large number of Scotch/Irish Appalachians moved to the so-called Rust Belt following World War II in search of a better life where jobs were plentiful in the mining and manufacturing region. Unfortunately, the poverty, drug abuse, alcoholism, violence, and general dysfunction followed the immigrants. You can take the man (or woman) out of the violence but you can’t take……
The book is not really so much about so-called hillbillies as it is about white working class Americans and how our system has failed them. Vance was mostly parented by his grandmother and grandfather, who were not unblemished themselves, but at least were a constant in his life. His parents were unavailable to him. His mother, in particular, failed him because of ongoing drug addiction. Aunts, uncles, cousins all demonstrated violent behavior and depended on drugs and alcohol to get through their difficult days.
There has been much talk lately about the problem of drug abuse as well as how poorly working class Americans are faring, but Vance’s perspective is different from many as this was his real life, the background from which he came. Drug and alcohol abuse, and general violence, were part of his roots. He credits his grandparents for his success.
Vance’s talk about government’s failings might be anathema to some who believe government assistance is the best way to help fight poverty. But he makes so many good points that I found myself highlighting section after section of my book. And then, unfortunately, returning it to the library.
A very interesting read indeed.
Thursday Thoughts
My thoughts for this Thursday are simple: My beloved husband turns 75 years old today, and I want to tell him how glad I am that he has shared over 25 years of his life with me. A couple of years ago, I wrote this blog in his honor, and today I will repeat it because my sentiments are the same. If you are surprised that he is turning 75 today, you are not alone. As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog, Allen and Emma gave him a gift certificate for an indoor sky diving experience. Need I say more?
Happy birthday Bill!
This blog post was originally published in October 2015….
Love can never more grow old,
Locks may lose their brown and gold;
Cheeks may fade and hollow grow,
But the hearts that love will know,
Never, never winter’s frost and chill;
Summer warmth is in them still. – Eben E. Rexford
The words above are from an old song that was popular in the late 19thcentury called Silver Threads Among the Gold. For some reason, I remembered the words to that song and I assure you I was not alive in the late 19th Century (though I’m sure my grandkids think I was). I’m telling you, I am using up valuable brain cells storing this type of useless information.
They don’t write songs like this anymore. Instead, you have classics such as I Can’t Feel My Face. My other thought as I read the lyrics was that you don’t run across many young boys being named Eben these days. Trevor, yes. Eben, no.
Aging is an interesting phenomenon. Someone hit the nail on the head when they said Old age is always 10 years older than I am. I should attribute that quote to someone; however, the internet attributes it to three or four different people. I couldn’t figure it out, so I will simply put it out there. Because, Friends, isn’t it all too true? When you’re 8 years old, don’t you wish you could be grown-up like your 18-year-old sister, whom you consider OLD. And it’s certainly true when you are in your 20s, 30s, and even older.
Bill and I began talking about this notion the other day. We figured out that when he and I got married, his mother was about the same age as he is now. A woman of some years. And Bill is, well, positively youthful!
My sister Bec was talking with her son Erik one day not long ago. In the course of their conversation, she mentioned that our mother was so young when she died. Erik asked her how old his nana was when she passed away. Sixty-eight years old, Bec responded. Erik’s reply? “I don’t think that’s that young.” Bec – uncharacteristically almost speechless — said, “You do understand, Son, that I am 65 years old.” Ah. There’s that.
All this is to say that today is Bill’s birthday, and he is 73 years young today. The year Bill was born, the movie Casablanca was released. Gasoline was 15 cents a gallon. A house cost in the neighborhood of $3,700, which was a lot considering the average worker earned a little over $1,800 per year.
Bill has had a lot thrown at him in his life. Do you know how he would respond to that statement? “Who hasn’t?” He handles life with grace and dignity, which helps keep him young. He is one of the funniest people I know, and you know what they say about laughter and medicine. He is living proof. One of the greatest tributes to this astounding man is that my brother says he has fully admired two men in his life – our dad and Bill. I agree.
So, happy birthday to my husband, and I am sure in 15 years when I am writing my – well, whatever will have taken the place of the blog – he will still be young.
Celebrations and Wanderings
Bill and I continue to wander as our floors continue to be finished. The sanding is complete and today Joe will begin staining. A couple of days of staining followed by a couple of days of topcoat, and a few days of drying in between. We spent last night at a nearby hotel. I don’t know where we will be tonight.
Finishing our floors isn’t the only thing going on in our lives, however. Bill prepares to celebrate his 75th birthday tomorrow. Since Dave and Jll leave for a trip to India, we celebrated a little early…..
There weren’t 75 candles on the cake that was made by Dave. Dagny cut the pieces, and they were largish…..
Home is where the heart is…..
By the way, he got a very nice box of cigars from Dave and Jll, and an INDOOR SKYDIVING EXPERIENCE from Allen and Emma. Bill’s excited and I’m already biting my nails!
Nana's Whimsies 