Category Archives: Whimsies

Saturday Smile: Could I Have a Side of No Doze With That?

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The other night, Bill and I were tired. We were so tired that not only did I not want to cook, we didn’t particularly want to go our for dinner. Still, we were hungry. I tried to order dinner from our neighborhood pizza/gyros place, but something was awry and I couldn’t get my order to go through on their web site and their phone kept going to voice mail.

Well, as my grandmother would have said, you always have to eat a little something.

So I told Bill he needn’t go change into non-house-remodeling clothes and we would simply suck it up and go to the pizza place in person. It’s only about a 5 minute drive, for heaven’s sake.

We sat down looking dazed and exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that when the server came to take our order, Bill said, “I’d like the chicken fettucini, and add chicken.” The three of us got a good yuck about that. Then it was my turn. I kid you not. I said, “I’d like the gyros salad, and add gyros.” And I wasn’t even kidding.

She didn’t even ask us if we would like a glass of wine.

Bill and I had a good laugh, both secretly hoping we weren’t losing our minds and yearning for our beds.

But, no matter, because it tasted good…..

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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Scream for Ice Cream
If you read yesterday’s post, you will have learned that I’m the sort of cook/baker who uses salt instead of sugar or forgets to add the chocolate chips to chocolate chip cookies. Well, maybe not quite as bad as that, but I am forgetful. However, one of my favorite activities with the grandkids is making homemade ice cream. To that end, I own not one, but two, ice cream makers. One has a single one-and-a-half quart canister and the other has two one-quart canisters. The other day, Maggie Faith and I decided to make three flavors — one chocolate, one vanilla with caramel, and one birthday cake batter flavored. The latter was Maggie Faith’s idea. Knowing my family well, I elected to use the larger ice cream maker for the chocolate, and then made vanilla and cake batter in the two smaller canisters. The chocolate ice cream froze just as it was supposed to; however, neither ice cream in the double canister maker froze. I was puzzled, because it seemed to be running just fine. It wasn’t until much later that I realized that the reason the ice creams weren’t freezing is because there were no paddles churning the ice creams. Since then, I have searched my house from top to bottom to no avail. Both paddles are missing in action. Still, Maggie was able to enjoy the fruits of the chocolate ice cream labor…..

Explosions in the Sky
Like nearly every other American, we celebrated Independence Day with great vigor. On Independence Day Eve (also known unceremoniously as July 3), we met Allen and Emma at Civic Center Park between the City and County Building and the State Capitol to picnic and watch fireworks. Bill and I took Dagny and Maggie Faith along with us to enjoy the evening. We nibbled on fruit and cheese and meat and cookies while listening to a welcome from our Governor, who frankly sounded as though he might have been enjoying some of the beverages from his own brew pub, particularly when he told us all to “enjoy the explosions in the sky.” Whatever. He has a right to have fun too. Maggie was very patriotic….

Grand Finale
For the July 4th holiday, Bill and I did as we always do, which is celebrate with Jen and her crew. Maggie and Mark and the kids always visit from AZ during this period of time, and BJ always joins us as well. Here were two of my contributions to the meal….

We end our day of celebration at the Fort Collins city fireworks. The firework show is always impressive, but I will tell you that this year the City Officials out-officialed themselves. The show was stupendous, and it ended with what I believe was the most magnificent grand finale I have ever seen.

Time to Duck?
Bill and I always spend the night of July 4 in Fort Collins, since the fireworks show gets over late. This year, we stayed at the La Quinta Inn. We checked in early, and then spent the rest of the day at Jen’s and at fireworks. We told everyone just how nice we thought the hotel seemed. The staff was friendly and the hotel was clean and bright. When we awoke this morning, Bill opened the curtains and found this…..

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen. Our hotel window had what appeared to be a hole from a gunshot. I spent considerable time trying to think of alternative possibilities — a hailstone gone awry, a very strong person tossing a stone at the second story window. At the end of the day, however, gunshot seems to be the only logical solution. Sigh.

Ciao.

Baking Angels

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My dad was a professional baker, as was his dad before him. My brother baked with Dad from the time he was old enough to hold a rolling pin in his chubby little toddler hands. He has worked in the baking industry his entire life, and still does. My sister Jen says she can’t bake a lick, though I’m not entirely sure that is true. My sister Bec is the one in our family who we count on when we want baked items at our family gatherings. Bundt cakes and brownies are her specialties. Ask Bill, who enjoys the fruits of her labors.

As for me, I absolutely LOVE to bake. However, for the most part, I stink at it. There you have it. My name’s Kris, and I’m a Horrible-Baker-Who-Should-Be-Better-Because-My-Dad-Owned-A-Bakery. Maybe there’s a support group.

So, now that I’ve given you background, let me tell you a story.

The other day I got a hankering for biscotti. You know, those hard cookies that you dunk in coffee or tea, or if you’re in Italy, maybe Vino Santo after a wonderful dinner al fresco. My favorite biscotti recipe comes from Giada di Laurentis, but they contain pistachios (yum) and dried cherries or cranberries. Though I shouldn’t eat the dried fruit, I could possibly let that slide; however, the pistachios are a firm no-go on my low fiber diet, no matter how delicious they are.

So I got the notion to bake chocolate biscotti. I knew Bill would be happy, and I was confident I could find a recipe for chocolate biscotti without nuts. And so I did, Double Chocolate Biscotti from Once Upon a Chef blog.

Biscotti are not terribly hard to make. The trick is that you mix the dough, form it into a log, and bake it for a half hour or so. You then remove the baked dough from the oven and slice them into the familiar biscotti shape. Then, bake them again for 10 minutes or so, until they sort of dry out and become hard.

The reason I’m a sort of hit-or-miss baker is because I’m sloppy and apparently quite forgetful. I’ve always been sloppy; I grow more and more forgetful as I grow older.

So, using my beloved Kitchen Aid mixer, I mixed the ingredients, all of which, surprisingly, were in my pantry. I took the sticky dough and formed it into two carefully shaped logs. I was about to put them in the preheated oven when the guardian angel in charge of food preparation landed on my shoulder and said, “You forgot to put in the chocolate chips, Stupid.” Who knew angels used such hurtful language?

So here was my conundrum. The logs were beautiful, glistening with chocolaty goodness. As I saw it, these were my two choices: 1) Dismantle the logs and put the dough back in the Kitchen Aid mixer, add the chocolate chips, and re-form into new logs; or 2) Change the name from Double Chocolate Biscotti to simply Chocolate Biscotti and don’t do a damn thing…..

As you will see from the photo, I chose the former solution. I just could picture Bill’s face when he bit into a soft chocolate chip in his cookie. These are doubly chocolaty delicious, he was bound to say…..

Double Chocolate Biscotti

Ingredients
1-3/4 c. plus 2 T flour, measured carefully
¼ c. plus 2 T unsweetened cocoa powder
1 t. baking soda
¾ t. salt
1 stick butter, at room temperature
¾ c. plus 2 T granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 t. vanilla
1 c. semi-sweet chocolate chips

Process
Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line a baking sheet with parchment paper. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt.
In the bowl of an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar until fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each egg and scraping bowl with a spatula. Add the vanilla. Then add the dry ingredients and chocolate chips and mix on low speed until just combined.

Dust a work surface with flour. Scrape the sticky dough out onto the work surface and dust the top of the dough to make it workable. Shape the dough into a ball and cut in half. Form each half into a log, and place on the parchment-lined cookie sheet. Shape into longer logs about ¾ in. high and 2 in. wide. Allow enough space for the logs to spread a bit while they bake.

Bake for about 35 minutes, until firm to the touch. Let the biscotti logs cool on the pan for about 5 minutes. Carefully remove logs onto a cutting board. Using a serrated knife, slice the logs on the diagonal into ¾ in. slices. Don’t worry if they crumble a bit.  Put the cookies back onto the cookie sheet on their sides (cut sides down), and place back in the oven for 10 minutes to dry and harden. Cool on the pan for a few minutes; then transfer to a cooling rack until completely cool.

God Shed His Grace

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O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Yesterday in church, our recessional song was America the Beautiful. I, of course, cried, as I do every time I hear that song sung, especially in church for some reason. I wish I didn’t cry, because it prevents me from belting out the song as I would if tears weren’t rolling down my cheek. It is sung every Sunday closest to the Fourth of July at most churches.

Yesterday, when I should have been listening to the homily — but wasn’t because our priest is from India and reads his homily thereby resulting in my mind wandering and Bill’s eyes closing — I was instead thinking about freedom.

I can only speak for myself, though I suspect I speak for many Americans, but I take freedom for granted. I get up every morning and look at the news on my iPad. If I didn’t like what they said, I could post my disagreement on social media, or write an opinion letter. If I want, I could go to church. In fact, if I wanted, I could go to a synagogue or a mosque. All of my grandkids – boys and girls – will have the opportunity to go to school, and it’s free. I can go to a library and check out all sorts of books, even books that are anti-government, and they’re free.

For heaven’s sake, a Hollywood entertainer posted a picture of herself holding a facsimile of our president’s decapitated head on social media. There was an appropriate amount of pushback, but as far as I know, she wasn’t imprisoned or put to death herself. Imagine if something like that happened in many of the countries around the world even today. Imagine if a Chinese man or woman posted a picture on Facebook of himself/herself holding the head of Chairman Mao. Oh, that’s right. China doesn’t allow Facebook.

And not only do I take freedom for granted, I also take for granted all of the people who fought in wars, and who continue to fight in wars, so that all of those freedoms we take for granted remain part of our lives in the United States of America. Brave men fought for our freedom from the British in the Revolutionary War, creating the United States, and cementing its Bill of Rights. Young people fought and even gave their lives during two world wars to keep America — and our friends in Europe – free. Wars continue, sad to say. But brave men and women are responsible for the lives we live without giving freedom a second thought.

I hope tomorrow, amidst the hamburgers and hot dogs, the red, white, and blue desserts, and the fireworks, I take a bit of time to thank God for making me an American, and for all of the blessings he has given our great country.

Here are the rest of the words to my favorite American hymn….

O beautiful for pilgrim feet,
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Say Cheeeeeez

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All of my grands can swim (or in Cole’s case, is learning to swim). As a non-swimmer who is too scared to learn to swim (though most of my grandkids have offered to teach me), I am happy that they all can enjoy the water and be safe. But I believe every last one of them wears goggles if going underwater. Most insist on it, I believe. And I don’t blame them, because I wouldn’t like getting water in my eyes either.

My niece Maggie is also making certain that Austin and Lilly can swim. They are both taking lessons. Apparently wearing goggles is optional for those two…..

And it amused the heck out of me when I saw this photo. Apparently, if you are as much of a ham as Lilly, when a camera is in the vicinity and you’re told to say cheese, you smile for the camera like a supermodel, no matter your circumstances…..

Say cheese, indeed.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Hollywood Daughter

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Author Kate Alcott tells a beautiful story of mother and daughter relationships set against the glamour of 1950s Hollywood and the darkness of the McCarthy years in this interesting and intelligent novel, The Hollywood Daughter.

I’m kind of an easy date when it comes to stories about Hollywood, much as I try to act like a grown-up reader. Last year I read All the Stars in the Heavens by Adriana Trigiani, which is a novel about the love affairs between Loretta Young and Clark Gable. I ate it up like an ice cream cone on a hot day. So when I came across The Hollywood Daughter, it was a given that I would read this novel that ties closely to Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman’s controversial relationship with Roberto Rossellini. Controversial at the time, that is. Nowadays it would be quite a ho-hum relationship.

Jessica Malloy is a young girl at the beginning of the novel, the daughter of a Hollywood publicist for actress Ingrid Bergman. Jessica’s mother is distant and apparently clinically depressed, since she spends much of the novel in bed. In the absence of her mother, Jessica feels a connection to Bergman, who appears to have it all going for her. The connection isn’t just something Jessica dreams of; in fact, because she goes to a fancy-dancy school in Beverly Hills and Bergman’s daughter is on the carpool list, and because Jessica’s father is Bergman’s publicist, Jessica actually gets to know the actress.

Years go by and Bergman disappoints her devoted fans by falling in love with Rossellini, getting pregnant with his child, divorcing her husband and moving to Italy. At the same time, Senator McCarthy’s hearings begin and everyone is looking at everyone else, wondering just who are the bad guys. The atmosphere directly impacts Jessica’s father and their family dynamics.

It was fun to get some historical perspective of the times through the eyes of Jessica, from a small girl up until young adulthood. The background about Bergman was interesting, especially given just how the times compare to today’s Hollywood goings-on.

The Hollywood Daughter was a fun read and an interesting historical perspective.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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Do You Need Help, Because I Do
The other day I got a text message from Jll. They say you can’t detect emotion in emails or texts, but I definitely read desperation in this text message: Might Papa need a helper today? Alastair might need an outing. Alastair might need an outing. Now that made me laugh. So I checked with Bill, and he thought about some things with which Alastair could assist. One involved a sledge hammer. Scoooooooooooooooore! The other involved accompanying him to Lowes and helping him carry heavy-ish things. Alastair spent some time breaking pieces of flooring into smaller bits with the sledge hammer, and seemed happy doing so…..

After a bit, however, the big pieces were coming to him too slowly and he was getting bored. Do you think I could go home now, he asked Papa, who assured him it was probably safe to do so.

Death to Rocky the Flying Squirrel
I have been showing you ongoing photos of my garden this summer. Most recently, I bragged at how nicely my veggie pots were coming along…..

This morning, however, I went out to water my plants only to find this…..

I have been in a fight with a squirrel all summer. He is totally ambivalent about all of my efforts to keep him out of my bird feeders. He is very tame, and when I scream like a crazed banshee to get him away from the feeder, he looks at me with a sneer. He would give me the finger if he had fingers instead of claws. So, while I can’t prove it, I’m pretty sure he is the culprit who dug up my jalapeno plant. This afternoon, I am sprinkling my tomato plants with cayenne pepper. I hope the little bastard gives it a try. Sorry St. Francis of Assisi.

I Wish I Were an Oscar Mayer Weiner
I don’t wish that, really. But I heard a story on the radio yesterday that made me smile. Apparently Oscar Mayer is adding to its weiner fleet, which currently consists only of Weinermobiles…..

It is adding Weiner Drones and Weiner Bicycles. So if you look up one day and see a weiner floating by, don’t panic. It’s simply Oscar Mayer’s Weiner Drone.

Construction Zone
As construction continues on our house, I am finding fewer and fewer places to live. The other day, we had our flooring delivered. In preparation, Bill moved out most of the rest of our furniture from the family room into the living room, the only place I was able to escape up until that time. Now I have about six by six feet of space in which to spend my days….

Who’s Cooking Dinner?
I gave Bec a ride to the airport yesterday evening for the final leg of her journey home from her almost three weeks in China. The woman loves to travel, and couldn’t say enough about how much she enjoyed her trip. But I think she was ready to go home and sleep in her own bed. As we drove to the airport, she said, “I wonder if I will remember how to drive a car or make my own dinner?” Don’t worry; it’s like riding a bicycle. Or a weiner bicycle.

Ciao!

Can I Go Back to China?

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My sister Bec returned Monday evening after a two-and-a-half week trip to China and Tibet. She walked into our house looking perkier than I would have looked – or even than I looked at that moment. Because, God bless her, she walked into a Grandkids Zone. Bill and I were watching Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole while their parents had dinner and went to see Wonder Woman with free tickets that Court somehow accessed.

Perhaps after nearly three weeks of trudging up ten million stairs in air that makes Leadville seem like New Orleans, a few kids with Play Doh seemed easy peazy.

What are the first words that you say to someone who has been gone for 19 days visiting a communist country where the people cook animals that we pet? Can I fix you a martini?

Yep. For better or worse, that’s what I asked her. She declined, pointing out that she had been awake for nearly 24 hours straight at that point (being, like me, unable to sleep on an airplane) and straight gin would have resulted in her falling face forward. The idea of Kaiya saying, “Nana, why is Aunt Bec sleeping on the kitchen floor? Why, Nana, why?” simply didn’t seem like a good option.

As the evening went on, between cleaning up spilled lemonade, breaking up fights over Play Doh, fixing butter noodles for the kids and pasta with pesto for the adults, and slicing more watermelon than one would think would fit in those little tummies, I was able to have bits and pieces of conversation with Bec.

Since I was offering dinner something like 15 minutes after she entered our house, I asked, “Are you even hungry?”

Her reply: “My body doesn’t have the slightest idea of what time it is, or even what time zone it’s in, so it doesn’t know if it’s hungry or not. Let’s just eat and see what happens.”

We enjoyed our dinner, and more so, enjoyed getting snippets about her trip. Snippets, that is, between me running off to lift 3-year-old Cole from the play house which he has discovered he can climb into, but has not yet mastered getting out of. And I had to move quickly because a headfirst dive was not out of the question.

Remember the playhouse?

But anyone who knows her, knows that Bec is nothing if not a trooper. So as the hours passed and Court and Alyx had not yet appeared, she helped entertain her great nieces and great nephew…..

When their parents finally showed up, they had their own story to tell. They had, indeed, gone to the theater where the movie was to be played. The 7 o’clock movie time came and went. It was announced that the film operators (who these days are undoubtedly 13-year-old computer geeks) couldn’t get the film to play. After 45 minutes of trying, they showed Terminators 2 3D instead of Wonder Woman, apparently thinking that offering a 3D movie would make up for making movie goers wait 45 minutes.

All was well at the end of the day. The kids were carried to the car a little past 10, and seemed no worse for wear. (Cole had fallen sound asleep on the living room floor and when his dad lifted him up, he was like a life-sized Raggedy Andy doll.) Bec finally fell into her bed around 10:30, though her body didn’t really know what time it was.

Bec’s China trip will be a guest post soon….

…. but in the meantime, we need to get her body convinced that it is back in the good ol’ U.S. of A.

When Did This Happen?

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Aging is funny. In fact, aging is so funny that I’ve probably written this self-same blog post before and can’t remember doing it. So maybe aging isn’t all that funny.

But what’s interesting about it is how it sneaks up on a guy. It’s not like your body feels the same at age 63 as it does at 25. There are well-documented (and in my case, well-articulated) aches and pains that most people don’t have when they are 25 years old. But aging happens so slowly that it isn’t until you take one of those calculated looks in a mirror (you know, the ones where you’re really looking at yourself instead of just quickly checking out to see if you have spinach in your teeth) that you think, Holy shit! When did this happen?

Or when you see a friend or an old co-worker who is your age and whom you haven’t seen in a long time, and you can’t help but notice that they look OLD. And then you have to remind yourself that you also look old. It’s easy to tell because they are looking at you funny too.

And frankly, you also act old. I’m tentative about doing things that I did without a second thought when I was 25. Like watering my garden, which involves dragging hoses over rocks. I’m so fearful that I will trip on said hose and fall on said rocks. I didn’t worry about this when I was younger because, in the unlikely situation in which I should fall, it was easy to pick myself up and brush myself off and start all over again (and see, when you’re old, you start using lyrics of old songs when you write!). But now every fall can result in one of a couple of things: 1) you break a bone; or 2) you can’t get up. You know, as in I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.

I remember being horrified when I noticed that the Muzak music they were playing in the grocery stores was songs from my high school years. Now I don’t even recognize the songs they’re playing as Muzak background in grocery stores because it’s later than my time, and I see 40-somethings looking disgruntled because they’re hearing songs from their high school days. That’s when I yearn to hear Dan Fogelberg’s Another Auld Lang Syne or Take it Easy by the Eagles, both tried and true Muzak songs.

By the way, you non-Baby-Boomers probably don’t even know what I mean by Muzak. Look it up.

I started thinking about aging yesterday morning when I went onto my iPad to check what’s happening on Facebook. You know how now half of Facebook notices on your timeline aren’t from your friends, but instead are from companies trying to sell you things? For me, it used to be Zulilly or Amazon or maybe even Nordstrom. However, this morning, my ad was for underpants that are pee-proof (their words, not mine). Usually the ads are tied to something I might have googled recently or something I purchased. If I, for example, buy something from Target online, for the next six months, I get Target ads on my Facebook feed. But this pee-proof underwear comes out of nowhere. I’m happy to say that I haven’t peed my pants since I was two years old or so. I’m sure I will soon, but as yet, I haven’t. So why do they feel the need to nudge me towards pee-proof underwear?

And while I’m at it, I must tell you it is quite annoying that Pinterest keeps suggesting pins for plus-sized clothing. While I might be working my way there, I’m not there yet. Stop Pinterest, in the name of all that is good and holy!

My 45th high school reunion is coming up, and so I’m bracing myself to come face-to-face with reality. The good news is that we have had reunions every five years, and I haven’t missed a single one. So there shouldn’t be too many shocks.

As for me, my hair stylist told me recently that my gray hair looks like highlights, and at least it isn’t yellowish. Of course, she told me this prior to payment, so she might have been performing for tips. But at least it isn’t yellowish. Sigh.