Category Archives: Whimsies

Friday Book Whimsy: The Spider and the Fly

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Before I review this book, I have to tell you a deep, dark secret. I sort of, kind of, like to read about real-life murder and real-life murderers. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t intend to embark upon a killing spree ala Natural Born Killer, a movie I’ve never even seen. And what’s more, though I may be unique in that I admit it, many people are interested in murder. (I wish I could say it like the British do: muuuurdah.)

Anyway, I know I’m not the only one because podcasts about murders and murderers are wildly popular these days. My Favorite Murder is one of the more popular podcasts out there nowadays. (I don’t recommend it for everyone. Language, people.)

Anyway, The Spider and the Fly, by journalist Claudia Rowe, showed up on Book Bub, recommended for those who like nonfiction books that read like novels. As I am not a huge fan of nonfiction, this caught my eye, and I looked at the list of books. This one appealed to me because in the publisher’s description, it highlights this letter from real-life serial murderer Kendall Francois to the author:

Well, well, Claudia. Can I call you Claudia? I’ll have to give it to you, when confronted at least you’re honest, as honest as any reporter….You want to go into the depths of my mind and into my past. I want a peek into yours. It is only fair, isn’t it?

Oh my heavens. Doesn’t that sound like Hannibal Lector of Silence of the Lambs fame? I was hooked, and got my hands on the book as soon as possible.

Kendall Francois was convicted of killing eight women in Poughkeepsie, New York, between 1996 and 1998. What’s more, he kept these eight women in the attic of the home he shared with his mother, father, and a sister, who took no offense at the putrid smell coming from the attic and the appearance of maggots on their ceiling. Seems odd, doesn’t it?

Francois eventually confessed to the inept police (who had also visited the home, and it hadn’t raised any concerns), pleaded guilty, and was sent to live out most of the rest of his life at Attica prison. He eventually died of cancer at another prison in his 40s.

It was shortly after his confession that Ms. Rowe became interested in the murder and Francois himself. What, she wondered, could make a person become a serial murderer.

The book, however, is as much about the author and her messed-up life as it is about Kendall Francois. So if you embark on this reading journey thinking you will gain an understanding of why a person murders, you will be disappointed. Rowe becomes obsessed with the murderer because she thinks it might give her some insight into her own weird life.

By the way, despite the fact that Francois was a real-life murderer, he wasn’t as scary as Hannibal Lector because who could be?

This book is certainly not for everyone. The details are disturbing, and the fact that it is real stuff makes you want to not go out at night. Still, I admit that I enjoyed reading this book, though I might stick to murder mysteries from here on.

Here is a link to the book.

 

Thursday Thoughts

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Not Quite School Daze
I mentioned in a recent blog that all of my Denver grandkids are back in school, but I was wrong. I got a call Tuesday from Maggie Faith. “Can I come over for a little bit?” she asked. I told her of course, but I thought she was in school. Not until this upcoming Monday, she informed me. I was relieved she wasn’t playing hooky. When she arrived, she immediately asked me, “What do you want to do?” as she always does. “Let’s cook something,” she went on to say, and started rooting through my pantry. Maggie likes to take random ingredients she finds in the pantry and “create” a masterpiece. The so-called masterpiece might include pieces of beef jerky cut up into some peanut butter, add a few pepper flakes and a handful of marshmallows, bake for 10 minutes, and then consume. I wasn’t quite up for that, so I suggested instead that we check out Pinterest and find something to make using existing ingredients. We landed on some simple Danish rolls using canned crescent rolls. I actually didn’t have the rolls, so I made a quick run to the grocery store. When I returned, Maggie had persuaded Google Home to play top 40 hits. She was dancing around the kitchen, and had used instant lemonade, instant ice tea, and instant fruit punch (which I didn’t even know I had, so it must have been older than she) to make a punch. “Want some?” she asked. I declined. We set to work on our Danish, and just about the time we got the dough laid out and the cream cheese mixed with the sugar, she got a better offer. Her friend Molly wanted her to come out and play. “Bye Nana,” she said as she hopped on her bike and left me with a dozen-and-a-half almost-put-together Danish rolls. No worries. Papa Bill ate them……

It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye
As I was out on my morning walk the other day, I observed two women standing in front of a car with the back opened. The car was packed to the gills with suitcases and other travel paraphernalia. They were tearfully hugging one another, and I teared up myself. I remember the days when my sister Bec and her family would travel from the East Coast, or my brother Dave and his family would travel to Denver from AZ. We would always have such fun while they were here, and it was so sad to say goodbye. We would all cry.  Say what you will about technology, but with all its flaws, it certainly has made the world smaller and communication easier. What with email and Facetime, I never feel very far away from my family and friends. I hope the woman has a safe trip to wherever she is going.

More Beesness
I telephoned Dagny yesterday to try and ascertain the status of the beehive. You might recall that my last update told you that the queen bee had died and the two apiarists had purchased a new queen. That queen was in a little box that they set inside the hive, the idea being that the drones and workers would get used to her before letting her loose in the hive. According to Dagny, that queen escaped her little box on her own. Apparently it was a bad decision, because she was quickly killed by the worker bees. But alas, all is not yet lost. There is a glimmer of hope. Dagny said that when she and her father checked the other day, it looked like there might have been some eggs that had been laid recently, indicating the existence of another queen. It would be one that the other bees chose, I guess. Or, said Dagny sadly, it might just be the glare of the sun and not eggs at all. Time will tell. I believe Camilla Parker-Bowles Windsor is watching carefully to see how one becomes queen when one is tired of waiting.

Twinkly Citrus
I crocheted these adorable citrus scrubbies this week, and posted them on my Etsy page. They worked up really quickly, and I think they are cute and cheerful-looking. Kaiya was surprised when she checked them out. “I like the way these feel,” she said. Check them out on my Etsy page (link above).

Rapunzel
When Mylee was over at my house the other day, for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t have her hair in pony tails or in a bun. In fact, it was completely loose. I was taken aback at just how long her hair is….

Ciao.

No Magic Tricks

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I honestly don’t know what happens to my time. I’m retired. I don’t volunteer (except with my grandkids). I belong to virtually no clubs or organizations that take up my time. And yet, the days go by and I find I haven’t done a single one of the things that I have committed to myself that I would do. For example, two weeks ago, I ran into a friend whom I haven’t seen for a while, and promised her with great confidence that I would call her in a few days to arrange for us to have lunch or coffee. Haven’t done it. Nope.  Sure haven’t.

Unfortunately, the same is true of my prayer life. Or perhaps I should say my so-called prayer life, as it is one of the things that gets pushed aside way more than it should. I know you’re all thinking right now, for heaven’s sake, the woman is constantly talking about her prayer life and how it should be better. Poop, or get off the pot. (That is what my dad would have said, although he wouldn’t have used the word poop in the sentence. In fact, he probably never used the word poop in his life.)

Praying kind of confuses me, I will admit that freely. I will ask God for something, and then I am unsure if I should ask again. I remind myself about the gospel reading in which Jesus says that we should nag God (my words, not his) like the woman who nagged the judge for the favor. I wonder why God should listen to me when others might be praying for the exact opposite. I used to wonder about this when I was in high school and we would pray for a victory in the football game. Was God a Scotus Shamrock fan?

The fact is I’m probably overthinking the whole thing. While miracles do happen, most of the time when we ask for something specific – winning the lottery or curing an illness – there isn’t a flash of light and subsequent wealth or health. I guess that’s because prayer isn’t a magic trick. It’s a conversation with God. And good conversations take time and develop slowly. They also require both talking and listening.

Yesterday, our Mass celebrant told us something that resonated with me. So much so, in fact, that I dug around to find a pencil and write what he said in the margin of my prayer book. He said when you find yourself distracted from listening to, say, his sermon, perhaps that distraction is God talking to you. Pay attention to your distractions, he told us.

I gave that a lot of thought after he said that, during which time I was distracted from his homily, I’m afraid. Maybe that was God’s wish, however. Maybe thinking about a conversation with God was more important that listening to the sermon.

I tend to obsess about things, especially when they are things that relate to my family. While I don’t think God wants me to obsess about things over which I have no control, maybe my distractions and worries are just God’s way of reminding me that he is not only listening, but actually is handling things, thank you very much.

Just like when Peter was comfortably walking on the water, following Jesus’ example in St. Matthew’s gospel, but started overthinking it all (like I tend to do) and began to sink. Save me Lord, he said, and Jesus reached out his hand.

Perhaps that should be the prayer I say, not once, but over and over every day: Save me Lord. Maybe that’s the way to start my conversation with God.

And this week, I PROMISE I’m going to give my friend a call.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: He’s a Player

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Cole, age 3, is our youngest grandchild. He is smart as a whip, but his language skills have been a bit slow to develop. Doctors finally figured out that his ears were not draining properly, and he therefore was unable to hear. He recently had surgery to insert tubes into his ears, thereby allowing the ears to drain propertly, and more important, to allow Cole to hear. Since then, his language skills have been improving rapidly.

Thursday was his first day at preschool. When I went to visit them on Thursday evening, he barely slowed down from his busy activities to even say hello. As he raced by, I asked him if he liked his first day of preschool. Yes, he said, as he raced by me. Then his dad asked him if he had a girlfriend. Without even slowing down, he replied, not yet.

Even at 3, the boy’s a playah! And he constantly makes me smile…..

Have a good weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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Sad Beesness
As you will recall, my granddaughter Dagny and her father have become apiarists. They began their beekeeping activities in April of this year. You can read about their beekeeping in this blog. But don’t get too excited about the prospect of honey this year. Unfortunately, there was a death in their bee family. And even more unfortunate is the fact that the death was the queen. Neither of the apiarists are certain when or why this happened. They did their routine check last weekend and there was no sign of the queen. It happens, they told me sadly. So they ordered a new queen. She comes in a little box, which arrived day before yesterday. For the first few days, she lives in her little box in the hive, hoping that her drones will get used to her. Sometime in the next few days, the two apiarists will open the box and cross their fingers. It can get ugly, my friends. D’s Bees Honey may have to wait awhile.

Birthday Happenings
We got back from Nebraska just in time to celebrate Dagny’s 11th birthday. It seems practically impossible that she can be 11, and going into middle school, but I’m afraid it’s true. We gathered together and shared her favorite food – a steak, medium rare. Not one, but two, ice cream cakes…..

She blew out her candles and opened her gifts. From us, a climbing helmet and climbing gloves, in preparation for her first outdoor climb on September 10…..

Pucker Up
I complained about my garden yesterday, but the truth is that my beans have done quite well. Not all of the bean seeds sprouted, but the ones that did have been quite productive. Since you will recall that Emma was the one who actually planted my garden, I used some of the beans to make dilly beans, and will give her a jar. The beans look scrumptious. Unfortunately, you are supposed to let them sit unopened for a month so that the beans can actually get sour. I wonder if I’ll make it that long…..

Woe is Me
My niece Maggie sent me this photo of her daughter Lilly at the grocery store the other day. It’s apparently one of those stores that lets children have their own little carts. The two of them were waiting in line, and Maggie laughed to see Lilly wearily leaning on her cart like the others in the line. If you look carefully, you will see that Lilly, however, has her face painted pink and blue. I don’t think the senior citizens in line could say the same…..

Skyline
Last night we got the chance to see Allen and Emma’s new apartment, and I couldn’t be happier for them. They are located in the heart of where it’s all happening in Denver these days. The apartment is nice and the location is amazing…..

View from their rooftop.

Ciao!

Tick Tock Goes the Summer Clock

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Every August, the same thing happens. I begin to grow weary of certain things about summer. By the end of July, all of the plants that I so patiently planted and potted and watered at the beginning of the summer begin to turn yellow and produce less.  So the tomatoes that once looked like this…..

…..now look like this…..

Even the squirrels don’t want them anymore.

My mother always said that summer was half over on July 4. Technically, that’s probably true. But it is around August that I start losing my will to garden. My petunias — once spectacular — are now sad and overgrown. I threw away two of my potted flowering plants yesterday because they just had simply had it. They’d lost their will to live.

August is also the month that most of our grandkids start heading back to school. That shouldn’t actually impact me much, but nevertheless, I am sad about their return to a life where they’re not at my beck and call. Let me tell you, however, that my grandkids aren’t sad about school starting. They don’t take after me in that regard. I was always sad about the return of school daze, both when I was school-aged and when Court was in school.

I watched the weather news the other night, and the 20-year-old weather expert warned me that August was going to be rainy and chilly. I have been complaining to anyone that would listen (which basically means Bill, who is trapped at the breakfast table with me every morning and has mastered the art of looking like he’s listening when actually he’s reading about how to install pocket doors) that we have had such a dry summer and how much I wish it would rain.

And so it has been raining, and what am I doing? Complaining about the rain. Just call me Eeyore.

Monday night, it was so chilly that I put an afghan over me to sleep. That, by the way, is not a complaint. In my perfect world, the days would be warm and the nights would cool down to about 50, allowing me to leave the windows open to let in the cool night air and use a comforter to stay warm. Bliss.

Mylee — who is currently obsessed with heaven — would say that’s the way I will sleep in heaven. I hope she’s right.

Following the previous cool night, I awoke yesterday and put on jeans and a sweatshirt. I bought the fixings for meat loaf for dinner. Around noon, I met a friend for lunch, and noticed two things: 1) the temperature was around 80 degrees and I was hot; and 2) meat loaf didn’t sound that good. Nevertheless, meat loaf it was last night.

The moral of my story — as it is later summer every year — is that I am apparently not easily satisfied when it comes to weather. But I am happy that football is just around the corner.

Go Broncos.

Going to Where I’m From

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I wonder how many times I’ve driven I-76 and I-80 between Denver and Columbus, Nebraska? Hundreds, probably, or close thereto. I seriously never get tired of it. Well, I don’t get tired of I-80 anyway; I have to admit that I-76 running through the eastern plains of Colorado is a bit of a snoozer. While I don’t want to lapse into hyperbole, there is virtually nothing on I-76.

In fact, one time many moons ago, Bill and I were driving back from Chicago in the middle of the night. We incorrectly assumed we could find a place to get gas along I-76; however, there were absolutely no gas stations open and paying at the pump was nonexistent. Anyhoo, by time we got to Keensburg (about 48 miles northeast of Denver), Bill insisted that we go no further since our gas gauge was hovering on empty. We slept in the car at the gas station until 6 o’clock or so, when someone finally opened up the station and turned on the coffee pot.

We made the trip this past weekend so that I could attend my 45th high school class reunion. Seven hours up on Friday and seven hours back to Denver on Sunday. Quick trip, but well worth it.

I never really entirely forget just what growing up in the Midwest was like and how it shaped who I am. However, when I am away from my Nebraska roots – either in Denver or in AZ – I give little thought to how much rain we’re getting or the price of soybeans. I worry instead about what color we will stain our hardwood and what I will make for dinner.

But the instant I drive over the Loup River bridge into Columbus, I’m 12 years old again. I find it funny that it always feels like I’m coming home, though I lived in Columbus a mere 18 years, and have lived in Colorado over twice as long.

The first thing I always notice is the sound of the train whistles. Columbus is a major thoroughfare for the Union Pacific railroad. The sound of the train whistles is heard regularly throughout the day and night as the trains – barely slowing down – go through the center of town and on to their next stop. When you live in Columbus, you get used to the sound of the whistles. Though our house was maybe half a mile from the tracks, I had many aunts and uncles who lived so close you would think the train was going to blast through their living room. Bill and I stayed at one of these houses when we were first married. In the middle of the night, Bill rolled over and said, “I have never heard so many trains in my life.” I had barely noticed……

To this day, the sound of a train whistle in the distance makes me nostalgic.

We ate dinner at Husker House Restaurant, about which I’ve spoken before. HH is the restaurant at which our family celebrated nearly every important event in our life until we moved to Colorado. The food is good and the décor hasn’t changed a single bit since I was a child…..

Bill and I had dinner with my friend Susie and her husband Sean.

Bill’s happy if he can stop at Glur’s Tavern (which proclaims to be the oldest tavern in Nebraska, and who am I to doubt?) and have a burger…..

I find a stop necessary at Ole’s Big Game Bar (in Paxton, NE), where you see the mostly-endangered-species that have been part of their décor since the species were not endangered…..

…..and a fried chicken dinner still costs only $8.99…..

But perhaps the most notable thing when I make my trip back to Nebraska is just how absolutely down to earth and funny and kind and interesting (and interestED) the people are. Most would agree with Tim McGraw that you should always be humble and kind.

I’m not sure when I’ll get back next, but I’m pretty sure things won’t have changed much. That’s something you can count on. There might be fast food restaurants that weren’t there when I was a kid, but at the end of the day, Nebraskans are still Nebraskans…..

Go Big Red.

Fill Up the Tub

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I learn a lot when I’m driving my grandkids around. Have you ever noticed that? The same held true when I was rearing my son. He told me things in the car he would have never told me sitting at the kitchen table. I always theorized it was because he was in a closed space from which he couldn’t escape, and because I had to stare straight ahead while I drove, he didn’t have to look me in the eye. It led to honest conversation.

But back to conversations with my grandkids. I don’t have conversations in which I expect them to tell me deep, dark secrets. That’s up to their parents, and I’m just the nana. But they tell me very funny things.

For example, the other day I was driving Kaiya and Mylee to my house to spend the day. Now, almost-9-year-old Kaiya is the worst eater of my nine grandkids. She proclaims a dislike of meat, but isn’t particularly fond of vegetables either. That leaves carbs. Mostly she likes pasta with butter and parmesan cheese and Domino’s cheese pizza. So it was kind of a surprise when she informed me – out of the blue, by the way — that she loved the macaroni and cheese from Noodles & Co. Restaurant.

Don’t get me wrong. The mac-and-cheese at Noodles is amazing. I was just surprised that she liked something other than pasta with butter and cheese and Domino’s cheese pizza.

“Really,” I said, showing my surprise.

“Really, Nana,” she answered. “In fact, I like it so much that I wish I could eat a bathtub full of Noodles mac-and-cheese.”

That led to a conversation about how we would like to design a bathtub that had a closed-in section in which we could sit with a spoon or fork so that we could eat everything that was in the bathtub without having to actually sit in what we are eating.

I asked Mylee if she would fill her bathtub with Noodles mac-and-cheese as well.

“No, Nana,” she said. “I don’t really like mac-and-cheese that much. But I know what I would fill my bathtub with.”

She went on to describe a total rebuild of the bathtub. It would be sectioned into two halves, with the closed-in section in the middle. One half of the bathtub would be filled with sushi and the other half would be filled with soy sauce.

“That way I could take the sushi from one side and dip it into the soy sauce on the other,” she noted happily.

I loved that conversation with Kaiya and Mylee. I think we pondered a fun question. It’s a bit different than the age-old question about what you would take to a desert island if you could only take one food (the answer which, for me, is always chicken-and-bean burritos smothered with hot green chili from Santiago’s  — a Mexican restaurant in the Denver area). It’s different because the question isn’t what is your favorite food; instead, it’s what is the food that, once you start eating, you can’t stop.

For me, it would have to be tortilla chips and salsa and/or guacamole. I guess I would need a modified version of Mylee’s modified version – chips on one side, and the other side divided in half with guacamole on one side and my nephew Christopher’s spicy homemade salsa on the other side. It’s true, my friends; once I dip a chip into salsa, I can’t stop until the chips are gone. And then I’m liable to ask for more.

When I relayed the conversation to their father, I asked him what food he would choose. He thought for a few moments, and then said chicken wings. I’m distrustful of that answer. Chicken wings would fill you up too quickly. I believe that’s what he would take to a desert island. But maybe I’m overthinking.

And Court’s thought on what food would fill up Cole’s bathtub? Chef Boyardee ABCs with meatballs.

I insist that anyone who comments on my blog today must include what they would have in their bathtub. And here is Christopher’s salsa recipe….

Christopher’s Salsa

Ingredients
1 can diced tomatoes, drained
1 can Rotel tomatoes, drained
1 green onion
1/4 c. cilantro
1-2 jalapenos, seeds and membrane removed (unless you want it hot)
1 serrano pepper
1/4 t. garlic salt
1 clove garlic, minced
Juice from one lime

Process
Place all of the ingredients in a blender or food processor and blend until it’s the consistency you like. The serrano pepper adds lots of heat, so use accordingly.

This post linked to Grand Social.

Saturday Smile: Old Friends

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Old friends, old friends, sat on their park bench like bookends. A newspaper blown through the grass falls in the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends.

Can you imagine us years from today sharing a park bench quietly. How terribly strange to be seventy. Old friends, memory brushes the same years, silently sharing the same fears. — Paul Simon

The past few days, I’ve had occasion to spend time with people with whom I have been friends for more than 55 years. Imagine that. What a blessing to have friends with whom you have aged but who laugh with you and cry with you as though we are still 7 years old. It’s a gift to have these old friends.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Summer Before the War

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Touted as a replacement for Downton Abbey, The Summer Before the War, by Helen Simonson, the story didn’t fill that niche at all for this reader. Nevertheless, I found it to be an interesting story.

Much like Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand, also by the same author, I found The Summer Before the War to be difficult to sink my teeth into. Once the story caught me, I mostly enjoyed the book despite some misgivings.

It is 1914, and there are rumblings of war. Nevertheless, encouraged by a strong-willed woman whose husband has political connections, the little town of Rye in East Sussex, England selects Beatrice Nash to be the Latin professor in the local school. A woman teaching Latin? And a young and attractive woman to boot? Unheard of!

Beatrice is mourning the death of her beloved father, himself a professor. He has left her without a penny to her name, but with lots of ambition and a strong head on her shoulders. She is ready to take on the naysayers who doubt her abilities. It is the summer before the war that no one actually believes will take place.

Agatha – her outspoken supporter – along with her two nephews, both as different as night is from day and devoted to their aunt, roll with the punches as they fight the battles against the townspeople and eventually the actual battles against Germany.

Simonson’s novel paints a clear portrait of the impact that war has on those fighting the battles on the field and those fighting to keep their homes and their families together. Her characters are well-drawn and interesting. The novel has unexpected twists, and an ending that I wouldn’t have predicted. It was a surprise, if somewhat confusing.

Overall, I enjoyed the book. I found it a bit slow in parts and can’t quite explain the ending. Still, it’s worth a read, especially if you read and enjoyed Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand.

Here is a link to the book.