Dave and Jll and the kids joined some friends and family at an outdoor movie last week. The Secret Life of Pets was playing to an audience of 5,000 or so movie fans, all of whom sat on the grass enjoying a picnic as they watched. The movie, of course, was in English. One member of their group speaks French as the first language. So, while understanding English, movies and television programs are a bit easier to understand if there are subtitles.

Well, 10-year-old Dagny, being third-born, knows how to take matters into her own hands. She proceeded to walk over to the projectionist and ask him if he could add French subtitles to the movie.

Hmmm, the man pondered. Why not?

As a result, the 5,000 people watching The Secret Life of Pets that fine evening, did so with French subtitles…..

…..thanks to Miss Dagny, a third-born who makes things happen (Je fais avancer les choses) and who makes me smile.

Have a great weekend.

Twenty-five years ago today, Bill and I were married. Second weddings are not like first weddings — in many respects. Our wedding was small, mostly family and a few friends. We were married at St. Vincent Catholic Church, presided over by Fr. Quang, at that time a fairly new priest, and now a monsignor. (I’m pretty sure Bill and I had something to do with that.) Court was just a kid of 12, but I chose him to walk me down the aisle. In all respects, our wedding was what I’d hoped for…..

June 20, 1992. The whole wedding party comprises the people you read about in my blog so often. Just younger.

I’m not going to get all gushy and say that I married my best friend, and it’s like we were married yesterday, and I would do it all again. All of those things are true, but they dismiss the reality that marriage is HARD. I won’t lie and tell you that we never had a fight in 25 years, or that we never went to bed angry. I’m pretty sure I went to bed angry about two weeks ago.

But since we were both divorced, we knew — beyond a shadow of a doubt — that we weren’t going to do that again. So even if we took the risk of going to bed angry (and don’t misunderstand; I don’t recommend that), we always managed to straighten things out in the end. It used to take longer because we took things more personally, I guess. Now we are both old enough to recognize that while there are a lot of things about which we disagree, life is short and you’d better pick your battles. So we do.

At the end of the day, the reality is I married a really good man. I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but when it came to picking out the man with whom I would spend the majority of my life, I done good.

So, happy anniversary to my good husband. What’s say we try for 25 more years!

When a man walks in integrity and justice, happy are his children after him. – Proverbs 20:7

When we were little, I remember Dad getting annoyed every year on Father’s Day. Why? Because he was convinced that at the Father’s Day celebration of Mass, dads were given short shrift by the priest as compared to moms on Mother’s Day. In particular, he was pretty cranky about a certain Father’s Day sermon in which the priest said that fathers should be mindful of, and thankful for, their wives because without the wives they wouldn’t be fathers. I can’t rightly say whether or not that’s what the priest said as I was probably not listening but instead planning what antics my Barbie doll was going to be up to when I got home. But Dad talked about that sermon the rest of his life.

I don’t know if any of that is true, but if perception is reality, then it was certainly true for Dad. It wasn’t true at our Mass yesterday, however, because the priest recognized and blessed the fathers three or four times throughout the Mass, as he should.

What’s more important – at least to me – is that not once did the priest ask the dads to stand. I hate when they do that on Mother’s Day. While it’s true that I can stand, I look around at the women who are unable to stand proudly for any number of reasons. How sad many of them must feel. Perhaps childless men don’t feel the same way.

Dad was on my mind all day yesterday. I could hear the sound of his voice. I saw in my mind’s eye the twinkle of his blue eyes. At one point as I was preparing dinner for family, I found myself starting one job before I finished the previous job. “You’re just like a tsetse fly,” I recalled my dad would have said to me. I don’t know why he said that, as tsetse flies are biting insects from Africa which probably don’t flit around like I was, but that’s what he would have said, because he often did.

I’ll bet if you asked each of his four kids to tell you about Dad, we would all tell a different story because of our age difference. For example, Bec, being the first-born, was featured on a Christmas card Dad sent friends and customers.  She was dressed in bakery whites with a chef’s hat sitting crookedly (and adorably) on her head. No Christmas cards featuring any of the rest of us kids. Just sayin’….

But every one of us would say that Dad was a remarkable man. He taught us all to work hard. He modeled honesty and fairness. He loved his family, the Nebraska Cornhuskers, the Denver Broncos, the Colorado Rockies, music, and baking. He was sociable and funny, and fiercely loyal to those he called friends. As a kid, he had a very good friend who had an accident that resulted in his losing both arms. Dad became his arms for everything. And they were friends until the day Dad died.

He wasn’t afraid of being adventuresome. His fearlessness was demonstrated by his willingness to give up everything in Columbus and move to Leadville, nearly sight unseen, to run a bakery in the mountains. He made the best of everything, as evidenced by the fact that he not only bought a bakery, but a horse as well! When in Rome…

And I think he showed us how to parent. He wasn’t particularly demonstrative, at least as a young father. I think he became more openly affectionate later in his life. But as the son of Swiss parents, kissing and hugging weren’t the norm. Still, none of his kids doubted his love. Never.

I hope all the fathers who have stumbled upon this blog had a great Father’s Day. And I hope that you can all play as important a role in your children’s lives as did our dad, who walked in integrity as did no other!

Get your motor running, head out on the highway. Looking for adventure, or whatever comes our way….

A number of years back, my brother and his family were visiting us here in Denver. We went out someplace for pizza. I remember very little about that particular restaurant visit, except that instead of having our usual sausage pizza, we tried the all-meat pizza. You know, the one with ground beef, sausage, pepperoni, bacon, ham, buffalo, beef liver, ground turkey, whole chicken thighs, rattlesnake, pork chops, barbecued brisket, and any other kind of meat you can think of. Bill liked it; I didn’t particularly care for it.

After dinner, Bill – who knows exactly how to get on my very last nerve like an Exasperator Ninja Master – said to me, “Wasn’t that so good, Kris? That’s going to be our new pizza. Yes, indeed. Our neeeeeew pizza.”

And I was sucked in like he was an industrial-sized Hoover vacuum cleaner.

“No, it’s not,” I said. “I didn’t really like it that much. It’s not something I want to order again.”

“Yep,” Bill said, smiling happily. “It’s our neeeeeew pizza.”

And he said it about twice an hour for about two days. And each time he said it, I would get mad. Until my brother – who loves Bill as much as anyone – said to me, “Kris, he’s trying to get to you. Don’t engage.”

From that point on, whenever Bill is being a brat and trying to get me to engage in his tomfoolery, I just say to him, “You don’t mean it. That’s just our new pizza.” I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing his pranks.

The other day, however, we were eating breakfast with our son Allen and his girlfriend Emma, and began talking about scooters. Out of the blue, Bill told Allen, “I think Kris and I might sell both of our scooters. You know, we’ll probably get a good price for them as a pair.”

I nearly had a heart attack. You see, I love my scooter. In fact, I absolutely adore my scooter. It’s my favorite thing about summer. My happiest day when we get home from AZ is the day I see all of my kids and grandkids. But the second happiest day is when Bill gets my scooter started for the summer.

I spoke up quickly, saying that I wasn’t interested in selling my scooter because I ride it almost daily. The subject was dropped, but I, being me, didn’t forget it. As soon as we were alone, I asked him, “What on earth are you thinking? I am absolutely NOT, under any circumstance, going to sell my scooter. No way, no how.”

And what did he say in reply? “I know you’re not. It’s just our new pizza.”

Will I never learn?

But back to my scooter. I have owned it for something in the neighborhood of 13 or 14 years. When I was younger and braver, I rode it everywhere in the summer, including downtown to work. I would start riding it to work early enough in the spring that I would have to wear a jacket and gloves in the morning. Late afternoon, when I would ride home, it was warm enough to go jacketless and feel the sun on my arms and back. Pure heaven.

One of the first times I rode my scooter (I bought it in early summer), I was riding past a swim club and the scent of sunscreen hit my nostrals. I was in heaven! I loved the wind in my face and the sounds and sights around me in clear sight. I still do.

While Maggie Faith has never been a passenger, she joined me on my scooter a few years ago.

Nowadays, I don’t take it quite that far. As I’ve aged, I’ve become a bit more cautious. I have never laid it down, and I never plan to do so. But I have a goal for the summer. I want to learn to ride with a passenger. Even after all of these years, I have never had a passenger. I would love to be able to give my grandkids a ride on Nana’s scooter. I think I will start small (maybe Mylee or Maggie Faith) and work my way up to Adelaide.

This post linked to Grammy’s Grid.