Category Archives: Whimsies

Well, I Don’t Like Your Tattoos

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Following is another Crabby-Get-Off-My-Lawn rant. Proceed at your own risk.

At my recent 45th high school class reunion, one of my fellow classmates told me this story: She was at a clothing store and overheard the conversation of a young couple. My friend was on one side of a rack of clothing and the two people were on the other side, out of her sight. The female of the couple had apparently pulled out a pair of capri pants and her male counterpart sarcastically said, “Oh, those will be great if capris ever come back in style.”

My friend’s reaction was to resist the urge to run over to the other side and grab the man by the throat, shake him like a wet rag, and say, “Oh, listen to me, and listen good. Capris ARE IN STYLE. If I ever hear words like that come out of your mouth again, you will be a dead man. I will hunt you down.”

Well, that might not have been the exact words she would have chosen, but it was her sentiment. And what’s more, I understand completely.  Because here’s the thing: I no longer wear shorts. The world in general should be thankful for that. My knees are wrinkled; my thighs are flabby; I’m nearly 64 years old and my days of wearing shorts have gone the way of the Edsel automobile. Having said that, now that Bill and I spend winters in Arizona, I spend the majority of my time in warm-to-hot weather. I get very hot in long pants. While capris aren’t a perfect answer, they do as good a job as anything of covering my legs but allowing a bit of relief from the heat. They are now – and will forever more be – a part of my wardrobe.

So Get Over It Ms. Millennial.

Facebook users: You know those lists that show up on your Facebook feed? Things like Fifteen Words that Are Always Used Incorrectly, or The 20 Makeup Tips that will Make You Look Like Milania Trump. I’m a sucker for those lists. It takes all of my self-control to stop from looking at each and every one of them.  So of course when I saw these words – 23 Baby Boomer Fashions That Need to Go Away — I couldn’t click on the link fast enough.

What I read made me so annoyed that I found myself yelling at an imaginary Millennial throughout the entire list. I won’t tell you all of her concerns, but here are some of the fashion trends that some 30-something spoiled trust-funder who only eats kale and quinoa and buys all of her clothes from Anthropologie thinks need to go away.

Pants with stretch waistbands: I eat things besides quinoa and kale. Like hamburgers and root beer floats. And since I haven’t tucked in a shirt in 10 years, what difference does it make if my waistband is elastic? Enjoy your spinach and acai berry shake and leave my waistbands alone.

Visors: Ms. Millennial’s command – “Wear a hat!” I don’t want to wear a hat. I look stupid in hats…..

But sometimes I want to keep the sun out of my eyes. I’ll wear a visor whether you like it or not. And stop telling me what to do. You’re not the boss of me.

Fanny packs: “Fanny packs are cute if you do it right. Baby boomers never do it right.” Seriously? There is a right and a wrong way to wear a fanny pack? Doesn’t it just clip around your waist and hang there?

Capris: According to Ms. Millennial, capris are the pants that cut your leg off in the worst place possible. I dare her to say that if she saw where shorts cut off my legs……

I’m entirely at peace where these pants cut off my legs.

Chico’s: Yep, she’s begging baby boomers to eliminate an entire chain store. She asks, “How many flowing cardigan vests do you need?” As many as I want.

Flannel nightgowns: She condemns flannel nightgowns because they make the wearer look like are from Little House on the Prairie. At least Laura Ingalls was warm at night, and so am I.

Merrill shoes for men: Their alleged ugliness offends our favorite fashion guru. I wish I could be around to see whether she is wearing fashionable shoes when she’s 75.

Rain ponchos: Dorky, says Ms. Millennial. Apparently getting soaking wet is better?

She goes on and on with her suggestions as to what fashions should be banned. I remember very clearly when I was younger and wondered for myself at what point I would start thinking it was fine to wear elastic-waisted pants.

It’s now, my friends. It’s now.

This post linked to Grand Social.

Saturday Smile: Is It Hot in Here, or Is It Just Me?

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Bill dutifully reads the news on his iPad every morning. He will often share interesting headlines or stories with me. The other morning, he was reading the local Denver news, and he said to me, “Hmmm, a woman’s oven exploded.”

“Well, that’s not good,” I said. “Was she injured or killed?”

“No,” he replied. “But there were apparently shards of glass all over her kitchen. And the oven wasn’t even turned on.”

He read for a few seconds more, and then added, “This isn’t the first time that same oven exploded. It happened to her once before.”

Now, I have to tell you all something, just as I told him: If my oven explodes, there is no do-over. I’m getting a new oven. I’m firm on that.

I will tell you something else, once he confirmed that no one had been injured, I laughed until I had tears rolling down my cheeks.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Before We Were Yours

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The plot of Before We Were Yours, by Lisa Wingate, is so startling that it is hard to believe it is based on fact. So startling, in fact, that this reader kept going back to Wikipedia to confirm that the practice talked about in this excellent novel actually took place.

In the manner of many novels written today, the story comes from two viewpoints.

The first viewpoint is that of Rill Foss. It’s 1939, and Rill and her four younger sisters live with their parents on a riverboat outside of Memphis, Tennessee. They are dirt poor, but are a very happy family. One night, Rill’s mother goes into labor, and it isn’t long before they realize that the birth won’t be an easy one and can’t be handled by the local midwife. Rill’s father leaves her in charge while he takes his wife into the hospital in town.

A day or so later, a group of people claiming to have authority to do so come aboard the riverboat and take custody of the kids. The five girls are taken to an orphanage. They are told that their mother and the baby have died and that their father is too distraught to care for them.

The second story line takes place in contemporary time, and features Avery Stafford. Avery is the daughter of a South Carolina Congressman who is running for reelection. Avery works for her father, and is, in fact, being groomed to succeed him. While visiting a nursing home, Avery notices that a resident named May Crandall is wearing a bracelet just like one owned by her grandmother. She wants to find out if there is a link, but unfortunately her grandmother has Alzheimer’s disease.

In the way of many novels, Avery can’t let this go, despite her family’s encouragement to do so. And she eventually uncovers a truth about her family that will change her life.

Here is the part of the novel that is unbelievably and unfortunately true. The orphanage was, in fact, a place where people with enough money could buy a child. The woman who ran the orphanage was named Gloria Tann, and her adoption organization kidnapped mostly poor children and sold them from the 1920s until the government finally began looking into it in the 1950s. Tann died of cancer before the investigation became public.

While the subject matter is excruciatingly sad, Wingate’s writing is lovely and lyrical and makes the novel easy to read and not a tearjerker. The story is interesting, and while the ending was somewhat predictable, it made me happy nonetheless.

I enthusiastically recommend this novel.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Eating Local
While visiting North Carolina, we ate nearly every meal out. I think we ate most of our breakfasts at home, and had leftovers one day for lunch. But every single dinner and most lunches were eaten at restaurants. But one of the cool things about our dining experience is that we ate every meal out at a locally-owned restaurant. I’m not opposed to chain restaurants, but it was fun to see what the local folks own in Winston-Salem. We had good food at restaurants such as Cloverdale Kitchen (at which we had our very best banana puddin’), and one night we had an amazing dinner at a steak house that was almost walking distance from Bruce’s house called Fratelli’s. And then, of course, there was the Dairi-O, a locally-owned fast food restaurant…..

…..where we ate this…..

Honey, I’m Sorry
The word came down from on-high earlier this week. The head apiarist — Dave, that is — said that the honey season is over and the bees are going to bed for the winter. Any honey that was available was fed back to the bees in the hope that they will produce more next year. What this means is that there will be no D’s Bees Honey in 2017. Night-night, Bees…..

Bare Garden
The other thing going night-night for the season are my flower beds. While I’ve still got a few tomatoes left on the vine (and the temps haven’t yet dropped below freezing), I pulled my annuals and tossed them away in the hope that they will be composted into next year’s fertilizer…..

Looks like the gardener could have been a bit neater.

Ciao.

The Weather Outside

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Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple. ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

When we left Denver a week ago yesterday, it was summer. When we got back on Sunday, summer seemed a distant memory. It was drizzling, and the temperature hovered somewhere around 50 degrees. I had turned off the air conditioner, but hadn’t turned on the heat at our house, so when we walked in the door, we were met with a bracing chill. I turned on the heat, and our old furnace groaned and said Seriously? Already?

Thankfully, knowing Colorado weather, we had both brought warmish jackets, and had them on. Still, it was a sad surprise following our five days in North Carolina with the temperatures in the 80s and lots of sunshine. Afternoons in the swimming pool were a mere memory. Pumpkin Spice lurked in the shadows like Freddy Kreuger.

Every year about this time I write my ode to the disappearing summer. Though I should be used to it by now, having lived in Colorado since 1974; nevertheless, it always takes me by surprise. When we left, there was nary an autumn leaf on the trees. When we returned, there was this…..

So I did what any self-respecting home cook would do. I made beef stew. Actually, Sunday night we were too tired from travel to do nearly anything, so we ate at the nearby Greek/Italian restaurant. I made beef stew on Monday. I would show you a picture, but we ate it all and — like God’s creation — it was good.

Quite frankly, there is very little I like about this weather. It’s true that the changing leaves are beautiful. It’s also true that I like the cooler nights and that I happily prepare dinners that have been coaxed into tenderness either on the stovetop or in the oven. Hence, the beef stew. But I will miss my evenings on our patio drinking my gin-and-tonic and cooking our dinner on the grill.

The cool weather always brings to mind football, which makes me happy. This year, however, it will also bring to mind cross country. In fact, yesterday afternoon, Bill and I put on our warm sweaters to go and watch Alastair and Dagny participate in a cross country meet.

Cross country, for the uninitiated, is a bit challenging to watch. The gun goes off at the starting line, and you watch your loved one(s) take off with determination. And then you sort of chase them around in an effort to be somewhere where you can cheer them on. Finally, some 10 minutes or so after they started, you see your loved one(s) cross the finish line, all determination long gone. They are simply tired. Still, the two seem to like it, and if it makes them happy, it makes me happy to watch them…..

The reality, of course, is that all of my nostalgic ruminations about the coming of fall will be forgotten by Saturday, when, in true Indian Summer fashion, the temperatures are expected to again be in the high 70s. There will still be time for Bill and me to visit Rocky Mountain National Park and listen to the elk bugle before the heavy snows begin to fall and I REALLY have something to whine about.

Welcome to Colorful Colorado.

Blue Mountains

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There in the highlands, clear weather held for much of the time. The air lacked its usual haze, and the view stretched on and on across rows of blue mountains, each paler than the last until the final ranks were indistinguishable from the sky. It was as if all the world might be composed of nothing but valley and ridge. ― Charles Frazier, Cold Mountain

I live in the mountains, and have for over 40 years. Well, maybe I don’t exactly live IN the mountains, but all I have to do is look out my window and I see the mountains. Well, I don’t actually SEE the mountains if I look out my window, but I do if I walk down to the end of my street. You get the picture. Denver is at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. What’s more, our Arizona house also has a beautiful view (at least from the front yard of our house) of Superstition Mountain.

All this is to say that I am familiar with mountains, and I can tell you that they are all very different. My grandmother, who grew up in Switzerland, was content with the Rocky Mountains; still, she always said that it was the Grand Teton Mountains in northwestern Wyoming that most reminded her of the Alps. Go figure…..

Grand Teton Mountains

Give a big sigh of relief, because I’m finally getting to my point. While visiting Bill’s brother in Winston-Salem this past week, we drove one day to the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina, and they are like no mountains with which I’m familiar. We took a day trip to Blowing Rock, North Carolina, and it made my Mitford-loving heart happy……

For those of you who don’t know, Mitford is the fictitious town about which author Jan Karon writes in her lovely series featuring Father Tim, a retired Episcopalian priest. The books are just about my favorite book series ever, and Mitford is where I want to live. It’s where everyone who reads these books wants to live. And it’s based on Blowing Rock, North Carolina…..

The town of Blowing Rock admittedly didn’t remind me much of Mitford. There is probably no town on earth that would remind me of Mitford, because towns like Mitford only exist in literary fiction. There is no town like Mayberry. There is no Stars Hollow apart from Gilmore Girls. Still, the drive through the Blue Ridge Mountains was amazingly beautiful. Almost heaven. The weather was perfect; the town bustled with activity; lunch was al fresco. What more could a person ask?

I had quietly cogitated about the idea of going to Blowing Rock during our visit, but said nothing. Why would two men who have never read a Mitford novel care one iota about driving an hour-and-a-half to see this town? But the topic of reading came up at a business lunch (yes, Bill and I did have one business-related activity while in NC), and I was asked what I was reading. I told them honestly that I had just started the most recent Mitford novel called To Be Where You Are, and explained that the book took place in a fictitious town based on Blowing Rock.

Squeals from one of the women with whom we were meeting. Well, since it was a business lunch, maybe squeals isn’t entirely accurate. Nevertheless, it seems that she had recently visited the community with her husband, and gave it a thumbs up.

Would you like to go, Bruce asked me. Why, I hadn’t given it a minute of thought, but now that you mention it….., I lied. And so we found ourselves a couple of days later driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains and into Blowing Rock…..

I spent the entire day looking for Jan Karon. I looked in stores. I peered around the restaurant in which we had our lunch. I didn’t see her and didn’t actually expect that I would. I have subsequently found out that she now lives in Virginia. Apparently Father Tim didn’t go along with her.

It was a very fun day, and one I won’t soon forget.

Carolina on My Mind

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When Bill and I travel together by plane, we always, ALWAYS get an aisle and a middle seat. I don’t know why, because a hundred percent of the time, we  spend the time peering over the shoulder of our neighbor-the-window-seat-holder to look out the window, undoubtedly annoying the heck out of him or her. Why didn’t you just buy the window seat, he or she wants to ask.

And so it was that I was rudely gawking outside as I said goodbye to North Carolina yesterday after five days of feeling like I was at home rather than on vacation. Because, you see, I’m pretty sure I lived in the south in a previous life. And after recently watching Scarlett O’Hara moon over Ashley Ashley, I’m ruling out Atlanta as my previous home. But North Carolina is definitely in the mix.

We spent our time with Bill’s brother Bruce, who lives, happily, (and happily lives) in Winston-Salem, the town that tobacco built. We were reminded of this fact very quickly, as we ate barbecue our first night at a local joint……

And, by the way, when you say barbecue in North Carolina, don’t even think about asking where’s the beef. It’s pork, all the way.

North Carolina seems to encompass All Things Southern. But there are Things that are notably North Carolinan. Baby blue, for example. The hallmark colors of at least some Carolina sports and sported by many on the street. And Cheerwine, a cherry flavored soda that’s as common in North Carolina pop machines as Diet Coke.

And while pimento cheese and banana puddin’ aren’t strictly from North Carolina, I can assure you that they are well represented in eateries there. Many years ago, when Bill and I first visited the Florida keys, we set out to find the best key lime pie. Similarly, we spent the past few days dutifully seeking the best banana puddin’ in Winston Salem. Not surprisingly, we did. Thank you Cloverdale Kitchen, which, as it happens, also serves up good fried chicken. You’re welcome, banana puddin’ fans.

I also drank my share of sweet tea, which I assure you isn’t iced tea to which sugar is added. There’s a whole process that involves simple syrup and a formula that results in a delicious beverage. Especially with lots of lemon. In a Cheerwine v. sweet tea contest, I pick the tea. In my non-vacation life, I would usually avoid the calories in sweetened tea, but while travelling, I recalled the calories I was consuming in my banana puddin’ research and decided being on vacation offset any caloric concerns.

Bruce gave us a five day grand tour, flying down the W-S streets that are so familiar to him after 30-some years of living in this pretty city. As he drove, he pointed out the grand estates, some nearly hidden by the magnolia and crape myrtle trees (and I spelled that correctly). We also saw the stunningly beautiful Wake Forest campus, the Reynolds family’s summer home built in the early days of the 20th century that they referred to as their bungalow. Some bungalow. Most bungalows don’t have indoor swimming pools, a bowling alley, and a gorgeous Art Deco bar….

The home had long since been donated to Wake Forest, and it was the site of a very cool Georgia O’Keeffe exhibit that we were lucky enough to visit. The exhibit included a couple of her paintings, but featured many photos of the artist and lots of her clothes. Offbeat and so interesting.

 

Exploring the town was fun, and seeing the sheer number of trees everywhere you look is surprising to this woman who has spent the bulk of her life in the wild, wild west. But equally satisfying were the afternoons we spent floating in Bruce’s pool, reminiscing, and solving the problems of the world. After our summer in which Bill spent the majority of his time with a power tool in his hand and I spent the majority of my time trying to find someplace that wasn’t noisy, we loved just relaxing and not having a thing to do…..

So, while I’m quite certain I was a southerner in a former life, I’m happy now to just enjoy occasional visits. As for a future life, well who knows?

Thursday Thoughts: Tuesday Edition

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Sayonara
That’s goodbye in Japanese, but I’m not going away for long. Nana’s Whimsies is taking a few days off. My blog will return next Monday, presuming I haven’t been having so much fun that I’m too pooped to write. In the meantime, here are just a few thoughts…..

Look at Those Cheeks
During my sisters’ recent visit to Nebraska, a cousin gave this photo to Bec. We quickly identified it as our brother Dave. As in Dave-I-Won’t-Go-On-Amusement-Park-Rides-Because-It’s-Only-A-Matter-Of-Time. His sisters took one look at this photo and realized that his worrying started as a mere infant….

Some Kind of Fun

Yesterday Bill took the day off from working on the house and we undertook a little adventure. We took the (relatively) new light rail line to the western suburbs and ate lunch at a restaurant that serves Chicago hot dogs, Italian beef sandwiches, and all manner of Chicago-originated junk food. The owners even have the Chicago schtick down pat. Don’t, for example, ask for a fork for your Italian beef, and heaven only help you if you ask for ketchup on your hot dog….

After we finished lunch, we took the light rail to a sports bar just down the block from where the Broncos were handily defeating the Dallas Cowboys, and watched with some of the other people who couldn’t afford a ticket…..

All in all, it was a very fun way to spend the day. And a Bronco win is always AWESOME.

Word About Bees
Dagny said though the queen bee is clearly still alive, but sadly there will be no honey this year. The bees are apparently preparing to hibernate. We will have to wait until 2018 for D’s Honey.

Have a good week.

Dagny and the Third

Bill and I have nine grandkids. Not surprisingly, we think each one is special. But even more interesting is that each one is unique. Even within families, each child has their own personalities, their own interests, attributes that make them one-of-a-kind.

From the time Dagny Tess was maybe 4 or 5 years old, for example, when other children her age were saying they wanted to be princesses or superheroes when they grew up, she was saying she wanted to be an entomologist – someone who studies insects. That made her kindergarten teachers raise their eyebrows.

Maybe because she’s third-born, she has always been energetic and fearless. She also has always been a climber. Several years ago when Bill and I were watching the kids, Dagny fell from the top of the treehouse as she attempted to grab hold of the fireman’s pole upon which she planned on sliding down. Thankfully, she was unhurt.

A couple of years ago, her parents began taking her to a local climbing gym. It didn’t take long before she was scurrying to the top with abandon, easily keeping up with her Uncle Allen who had climbed before. The obvious next step was climbing lessons, something she’s been taking for several months now.

I mentioned all of this to a friend a few months back, a friend whose husband did technical climbing. I bet Scott would take her to the Third Flatiron in Boulder to climb, my friend said. It sounds like something she could do.

This led to that, and about a week ago, Dagny, age 11, climbed the Third Flatiron in Boulder, Colorado…..

Dagny climbed the Third Flatiron, which is the one in the background on the far left.

Did I mention that she’s 11?

The climb took somewhere in the neighborhood of six or seven hours. It involved belaying and pitches and ropes and harnesses and all sorts of things that are part of technical climbing. But mostly, it took an amazing amount of sheer bravery.

She climbed alongside two men – Scott and Mark — with 40 years of combined climbing experience, and her Uncle Allen. She also climbed alongside other groups of climbers, folks who became comrades-in-arms as they made their way up the mountain. Not surprisingly, that girl we refer to as Delightful Dagny delighted the folks she met as they climbed. There were some double-takes and high fives as they got to know Miss D.

 

Here is what Scott had to say about Dagny in a follow-up email….

I’m still enjoying the post–Third Flatiron glow. That climb is always a treat, Allen was an excellent climbing team member, and Dagny was simply awesome. What a cool, calm, and collected person. When she reached the first belay stance after focusing completely on her climbing, she got clipped into the anchor, turned around, looked over the trees more than 400 feet straight down, broke into a grin and said, “Whoa! That’s so creepy!” And when the wind blew so hard on the last rappel and the ropes tangled enough to stop her 35 feet above the ground for a few minutes while Mark got them sorted out, what was her response? “Wow, there is the most interesting spider on the rock!”……Mark and I agreed after that it was the perfect way to spend the day. In fact, last Sunday is one of my top ten most memorable climbing days.

Yes, you read that correctly. As she rapelled down from the top of the Third, her rope jammed. As she dangled 35 to 40 feet in the air (at one point, having to climb up the rope using her arm strength), rather than panicking, she spent the time observing a spider.

When I spoke to her the next day, she admitted that she’d had a few nerves, particularly when she got to the first pitch and looked down. Did you want to turn around, I asked her. Nope, not a bit, she answered firmly.

Here are a couple videos in which she documents her experience. The first is at the top of the Flatiron. The second is after the group had rappelled down and she had accomplished this amazing feat.

 

 

I don’t know what to say about this remarkable girl. One thing I know is that as she faces obstacles in her life, she will be able to look back at this accomplishment and say, “I climbed the Third Flatiron in Boulder, Colorado, when I was 11 years old. If I could do that, I’m pretty sure I can do just about anything.”

And she would be right.

This post linked to Grand Social.

Saturday Smile: Birthday Chuckles

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Thursday was my sister Jen’s 60th birthday. She works hard for a living as the assistant to four or five financial advisors. In order to keep track of their activities, she has access to their calendars and has them open on her desktop all day long. On Wednesday afternoon, she noticed that suddenly all of her FAs had the following agenda item added to their calendars for the next day: 8:30 a.m. Surprise party for Jen.

Some surprise, huh? Still, they had a good time, and she was clearly the star of the show…..

She wore it proudly all day long.

That night Bec and I cooked her dinner that included mussels, a wedge salad with bleu cheese and bacon crumbles, baked ziti, and a peach cobbler as her birthday dessert. We went through something in the neighborhood of four bottles of wine. What with all the food, however, there were no lampshades on our heads.

That night Bill and I stayed at Jen’s house. She set up a blow-up queen-sized mattress on top of her sofa bed. We had slept there before, quite comfortably. However, something was amiss this past Thursday. Perhaps the mattress wasn’t blown up firmly enough; perhaps the sofa bed wasn’t providing enough support; perhaps it was the four bottles of wine. But the bed was so soft that once we finally settled into the mattress, there was no way out. Bill, in particular, was like a bug on his back. At one point during he night, as he tried unsuccessfully to turn onto his side, he and I got a strong case of the giggles. We both laughed until we cried.

It didn’t help, because he was still stuck on his back. It took a couple of firm shoves on my end to finally get him out of his hole.

We have a whole year to recover. Happy birthday Jen!

Have a great weekend.