Category Archives: Whimsies

I Want My Mullet Back

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I want my mullet back
My ol’ Camero, an’ my eight-track
Fuzzy dice hangin’ loose an’ proud
ZZ Top, they’re playin’ loud
A simple time, that’s what I miss
Your mini-skirt an’ your sweet kiss
Things are changin’ man, an’ that’s a fact
I want my mullet back. –Billy Ray Cyrus

I kept Bill company yesterday when he had to do one of life’s most onerous tasks – take his car in for emissions inspection. The task of getting one’s car inspected is second only to getting one’s drivers’ license renewed for sheer frustration and complete boredom. Plus, you get a headache from all of the emissions. The car needing to be inspected was his 2002 Ford Escape, the car we leave in AZ year round. Given its age and history, passing the emissions test isn’t a given.

Still, it passed. But I was more than amused when the man conducting the test came up to the window to collect Bill’s payment. The man, probably in his 30s, was sporting a full-out mullet, something I hadn’t seen in quite some time.

“1982 just called,” I wanted to say to him. “It wants its mullet back.”

I didn’t.

To reward ourselves both for passing emissions and not laughing at the man’s haircut, we ate lunch at one of my favorite hamburger joints  — Fuddrucker’s. Fudd’s third-pound hamburger is about my favorite of any burger made. Fuddrucker’s has no presence in Colorado, so I really love to eat there as often as I can without totally embarrassing myself while we’re in AZ. Quite appropriately for this post, Fuddrucker’s opened for business in 1979 in San Antonio as Freddie Fuddruckers.

As we waited for our food to arrive, I glanced over at the booth next to us. I kid you not, there was a young man with a full-out mullet.

“Sweet Lord above,” I thought to myself. “Please tell me that the mullet isn’t making a return. I don’t think I can survive that fashion trend again. It was bad enough the first time.”

I didn’t hate everything about the 80s. Court was born in 1980, and that was a very good thing. I liked the clothing fashions of that decade. Remember the jackets and sweaters with shoulder pads similar to what Von Miller wears today when he’s on the football field? And the faded bleached jeans that fit tight around your waist and had pleats. Man, I LOVED my 80s jeans. And what about sweatshirts with the torn collars ala Flashdance, and the legwarmers. Wow. I did love me some legwarmers.

And the music? Michael Jackson. Olivia Newton John. Hall and Oates. Lionel Ritchie. Good stuff, though I will admit to not listening to a lot of music in those days, as at least in the early part of the decade, I was changing diapers and ending my marriage. Busy, busy, busy.

But the hairstyles never have to come back into fashion as far as I’m concerned. Not the men’s styles. Not the women’s styles. Lord, the hairspray. And when you have hair as fine and straight as mine, well can you imagine how much hairspray it took to obtain this look…..

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After spotting the second mullet in just a half hour yesterday, I asked Bill just when mullets were popular. “I don’t know for sure,” he said (having gotten the same haircut for the past 73 years save for a crewcut he wore in high school). “When was Billy Ray Cyrus popular?”

And so I found this photo (to the left), and couldn’t help but notice the similar style worn by my nephew Erik around that same time (or at least I hope it was at that same time)…..

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I will keep you posted on mullet-sightings in the Valley of the Sun.

The Easy Life

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It’s taken a good week-and-a-half or so, but we’re finally settling into our life in AZ. Just in the nick of time because we’ll be leaving in a week-and-a-half to go back to Denver for Thanksgiving and the Christmas holidays.

kris-at-barLife in AZ is decidedly different than in Denver. There’s the weather, of course. This time of year, the change isn’t so much different, especially during the day. In Colorado, the nights cool down quite a bit. Yesterday evening when we went outside to sit on the patio and cook our chicken thighs in our beautiful outdoor kitchen, I checked the temperature in Denver. It was 51 degrees. That’s not frigid, but we likely wouldn’t be sitting outside without benefit of a fire pit. Conversely, it was a mild 78 degrees as we waited for our chicken to cook.

One of the biggest changes is in Bill’s outlook on life. When he’s in Colorado, he is absorbed in household chores. With a yard the size of ours, there is always something to do. Here, he can putz a bit, but mostly he just relaxes. We go outside every evening and have our “cocktail party.” He smokes his cigar and drinks his beer. I have my wine or my gin-and-tonic. We discuss the problems of the world, but unfortunately mostly can’t solve them, try as we might. Besides, no one ever asks us.

We always have a series of restaurants we check out. Over the summer, our favorite pizza place added a restaurant a mere 10-minute drive or so from our house. So that was our first stop. Yep. It was still very good.

Then, of course, there is the local hot dog place. We went during the World Series, and saw the sign announcing that the day after the Cubs WIN THE WORLD SERIES, they would give free Chicago hot dogs to the first 108 customers, in honor of the 108 years since the last time they were world champs. We elected not to be one of the 108 since the hot dogs only cost a couple of bucks anyway. I have no doubt there were numerous Cubs fans standing in line.

Of course, we had to give In N Out a visit. It’s always a must-do, despite the fact that I think both the burgers and fries are, well, ordinary. Haters, don’t hate.

One thing that our area of Mesa has that is different from Denver (and frankly, different from other parts of the Phoenix metro area) is the huge number of locally owned cafes, most of which are only open for breakfast and for lunch. Our part of Mesa has a significant number of snowbirds, who miss their home cooking but not their cold weather. These restaurants often cater to customers originating from a specific place. One nearby restaurant – Fran’s Café – features home cooking and lots of photos of Minnesota. There is a restaurant which we have never visited called the Iowa Café. Their menu undoubtedly includes pork tenderloin sandwiches and loose meat sandwiches. Loose meat sandwiches. Don’t get me started. Like a sloppy joe without the flavor. Haters, don’t hate.

Our little restaurant of choice, which we visit nearly every Sunday after Mass, is called The Little Kitchen. It opened several years ago, and was originally owned by folks from Colorado. It was only a coincidence that we stopped in, not knowing about any Colorado ties whatsoever. I just liked the name. And the fact that they offer FREE COFFEE! Look up miser in the dictionary and you’ll see my face. They have a homemade cinnamon roll that is quite delicious, and which we often split as our breakfast appetizer. As is typical for me, I always – ALWAYS – get the same thing, a breakfast called the Colorado Green Chili Stack. Hash browns covered with green chili and cheese, and topped with an egg made my way. Yum……

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One of the things Bill likes most about a restaurant is when the staff gets to know you, and that is becoming true at The Little Kitchen. Last Sunday, Bill left me at the table awaiting our bill so that he could run to the Ace Hardware that is in the same little shopping center. The middle-aged waitress, who has taken a liking to Bill, told me that she was going to chase after him into the hardware store and tell him that the police car that had pulled up out front was for him because he had skipped out without paying the bill. And oh my, did she think that was funny. Bill has a way with women, no matter how many teeth they are missing.

When we come back after Christmas, things are a bit different and it is less like being on vacation and more like just having a home in a really nice place in which you don’t have to shovel snow.

Finally, after my blog post yesterday, Jen sent me this link to a video which puts our privilege of voting (as opposed to our civic DUTY) in perspective. Take a look and try not to cry….

http://www.9news.com/entertainment/television/programs/next-with-kyle-clark/my-first-vote-as-an-american-anastasiya-bolton-9news/348391138

I Voted

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searchTomorrow is Election Day. I anticipate it with both a feeling of relief and a feeling of dread. Has this been the ugliest election ever?

I think I say that every presidential election, but this time I mean it. I literally haven’t seen a single ad for president or Congressperson or Senator that has been positive – you know, talking about why we should vote for him or her instead of why we shouldn’t vote for the other person.

In Colorado anyway, some of the ads – many of them, in fact, include a swipe at one of presidential candidates though it is an ad for someone else. That just seems like piling on. Facebook, of course, has gotten nuts about the election, and some of it is really ugly. I mentioned my disgust previously, and several of my Facebook friends apologized for their postings in favor of their candidate. I assure you (and them) that I am not one bit opposed to anyone posting anything in favor of the candidate of their choice, or even against their candidate’s opponent. It’s only the sense that I think people this time feel as though the electorate has no RIGHT to vote for the other person. In fact, if you DO vote for the other person, you are an idiot. That’s not fair. I have had friends, coworkers, and family on both sides of the aisle, and we have always simply agreed to disagree. I have never lost a friend because they think differently than I when it comes to politics.

For example, I saw something yesterday on Facebook that made reference (in the form of a cartoon) to looking at the big picture after the election – fixing our educational system that creates idiots who will vote for Trump. Don’t worry. I’ve seen equally ugly things said about Hillary Clinton. I am so tired of it all.

I have addressed my sadness and frustration about this presidential election on several occasions on this blog, so you’re probably tired of hearing me complain. Nevertheless, I voted. I hate how I voted, but if I had voted for the other person, I would have hated it equally as much. For me at least, there was just not a good answer. So I answered it the best I could.

From the time I was old enough to understand the concept of voting, I have never missed listening to the results of a presidential election on television. Man, there were some good years and some good reporters. Sometimes it went long into the night. While I was only about 7 years old, I still remember the Kennedy/Nixon election, in which Kennedy SQUEAKED by for a victory. I can still remember the sound of the television set in our living room as Mom and Dad awaited the final result. You might also recall that when George W. Bush ran against Al Gore, the race literally wasn’t decided for days.

This time, I’m afraid I simply won’t be listening or watching. I’m sure Bill, who is a much more responsible person than I, will be listening, though there might be no joy in Mudville for him either. And then, no matter the victor, we will get up the next morning, and still live in the United States of America, which has survived for 240 years because our founding fathers did one hell of a job in creating our government and our political system.

As Canadians have been telling us (in the way that parents tell their children who are disappointed because they missed the winning field goal), “American, you really are great.”

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No matter what, be PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN, where at least we know we’re free, and have the RIGHT to vote.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Go Cubs Go

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While I’m not a crazed Cubs fan (quite frankly, I’m not particularly a baseball fan), it made me smile to see certain members of my family so happy to see a Cubs World Series victory after 108 years. Early the morning after the victory (and I do mean early), Maggie posted this photo on Facebook……

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You can see the excitement and joy on Austin’s face. The look on Lilly’s face makes me laugh. Bill nailed it when he said that Lilly is looking at Austin and thinking, “Now what in the hell are we doing this for again?”

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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No Reward
Monday day I was at a Michael’s store in Mesa. The cashier was a young woman, dressed up like a cat as it was Halloween. There was a woman ahead of me, and I was next to pay. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation between the cashier and the woman ahead of me.

Cashier: Are you a member of our Rewards Club?
Customer: No. Is it easy to join?
Cashier: Yes. You just need to give me your email address and your phone number.

As this conversation was taking place, I was thinking that perhaps I should consider joining the Rewards Club since I buy so much yarn. The conversation continued….

Customer: Ok. My email address is J-U-L-I-E…..
Cashier: J-U-I-L-E?
Customer: No. It’s J-U-L-I-E….
Cashier: J-U-L-L-I-E?

By this time I was ready to yell at the cashier, “It’s Julie, for God’s sake. Julie.”

The customer patiently spelled it again, and the cashier finally got it. Then she started on the telephone number, with the same sort of result. By this time, I had decided that the Rewards Program was a no-go for me. If the cashier struggled with julie, the whole kzmclain thing would do her in.

When the Saints Come Marching In
My favorite priest at our church in Mesa – All Saints Catholic Parish – is Father O’Neill. He is elderly, one of three priests from somewhere cold who retired in AZ, and work at our parish. He is probably 80-something, and speaks in a deceptively gruff voice. I say deceptively, because he has a wonderful outlook on life, and gives joyful homilies that never fail to feed me spiritually. November 1 is the Feast of All Saints, and is dedicated to all of those holy people who are models to us of how we should live our life. Or at least that’s how I always looked at it. Fr. O’Neill reminded us that we all have the potential to be saints while we’re here on earth. At the beginning of all masses at which he is the presider, he greets the congregation with a cheerful, “Greetings People of God.” On Tuesday, the Feast of All Saints, he greeted us instead with, “Greetings Saints-in-Training!”

Go Cubs Go
searchI babysat for Austin and Lilly last night because Mark was out of town on business and Maggie had to work. As you know (unless you are a hermit living deep in the woods somewhere in northern Canada), last night was Game 7 of the World Series. The Jensens are serious Cubs fans, as Mark spent his formative years growing up in Chicago. As is typical, he has passed his love of the team on to his wife and kids. Six-year-old Austin’s bedroom’s focal point is the W flag on his wall. His bedspread and pillows boast the familiar red, white, and blue Cubs logo. At some point prior to the game’s start, Austin brought out the cast-off telephone he uses for games and music, and turned on the Go Cubs Go song. It’s quite jazzy, and he knows every word. And he has choreographed quite an exciting dance to the whole thing. We watched the game together, but at 8 o’clock, I put him to bed. The Cubs were winning handily at that point. Maggie came home a few minutes later, and happily went upstairs to see if he wanted to watch the end of the game with her. After all, the Cubs were about to make history. Except then they weren’t. He finally went back to bed after the score was tied and the Cubs seemed destined to lose. But, at the bottom of the 10th inning — yes, I said the 10TH INNING — they pulled out a win and made many of my family members very happy. The Curse of the Billy Goat is over.

Ciao.

Round Ball

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I spent the first two decades of my life in Nebraska. You know, Nebraska, home of the Cornhuskers. Go Big Red and all that jazz. Because of the success of the Cornhuskers, the state was and is nuts about football. Basketball, not so much. Oh, I think Creighton University in Omaha always had a decent basketball team, but, well, GO BIG RED.

Despite my lack of childhood familiarity with basketball, Court grew up to be a basketball fan. He loves basketball.  From October through April, he is glued to his television every night watching an NBA game, preferably one involving the Denver Nuggets. Last October, I asked him if he was glad that the Cavaliers won the championship.

“I guess so,” he said. “But mostly I’m just sad to see the basketball season come to an end.”

That, my friends is how I feel every February after the Super Bowl. Sad to see football season end.

Court became a fan of basketball, I’m convinced, because of Jen’s ex-husband, Court’s Uncle Leroy. He certainly didn’t get it from me or my extended family. I’m certain he didn’t get it from his dad’s side of the family, the tallest of whom is probably 5’8”. His dad was a gymnast in high school, and probably never set foot on the basketball court in school.

But from the time he was a small boy, Court dribbled a basketball. While other boys dreamed of being astronauts or superheroes, he wanted to be an NBA player. He tried out for the basketball team the one and only year he attended Mullen High school, a Catholic high school in Denver known for its athletics program. That year my mother, despite already being quite sick, was thoroughly angry that her grandson wasn’t selected to be on the team. I thought I might have to wrestle the woman to the ground to prevent her from going to the school to give the high school basketball coach a piece of her mind.

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Dikembe Mutombo

It was around this period of time that Court actually got me interested in basketball. I watched him play the following three years when he DID make the basketball team at the public high school he attended. For several years, I actually had seven-game season passes for the two of us for the Denver Nuggets games during the glory years when Dikembe Mutombo, along with his signature finger-wagging not in my house, and Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, along with his beautiful nothing-but-net shots, were the stars of the show. We would cheer like crazy when the announcer would introduce Mutombo, using his full name:  And standing at 7-2, from Georgetown, Center Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jacques Wamutombo.

Court and I carefully watched Denver native Chauncey Billups – a scant four years older than Court — grow up to be a professional basketball player. Billups attended George Washington High School – not too far from our house

Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf

Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf

— and it was clear that he was something special. He was so special, in fact, that Court and I got tickets to the high school basketball championship game played at the Pepsi Center just so we could watch Billups play and win the championship. He went on to play basketball for CU, and eventually played professional ball for the Boston Celtics, Toronto Raptors, Denver Nuggets, Minnesota Timberwolves, Detroit Pistons, New York Knicks, and Los Angeles Clippers, proudly wearing number 1.

Chauncey Billups

Chauncey Billups

Billups is now retired and apparently lives in Denver. I’m guessing this to be true because about a year ago or so, Court was playing a pick-up basketball game during his lunch hour, and the group was looking for a fifth player. Court noticed a man shooting hoops across the gym, and recognized Billups. The group invited him to play, and he accepted. Uh, I’m pretty sure he was better than the rest.

I’m going down basketball memory lane because Court posted this photo recently of his son Cole proudly wearing an old-school Chauncey Billups basketball jersey. Well, I’m not sure how proud Cole actually is, but his ol’ Nana got tears in her eyes…….

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If you are a basketball fan and have a few minutes, watch the Denver Nuggets during the glory days….

Boo!

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Yesterday was Halloween. All Hallow’s Eve. Fright Night. Frankly, Halloween does nothing for me. It never has; it likely never will.

I hear collective gasps.

For many years, we went to one or another of the grandkids’ houses and watched them get into their costumes and handed out candy while they trick-or-treated. The last couple of years, we have been in AZ for Halloween, and that will probably continue for some time.

Each year that we’ve been here in AZ, Maggie has invited me to go with her and her family to a friend’s house, where they have a neighborhood Halloween party. That is apparently pretty common here in the Valley, as it seems to hold true in my nieces’ and nephews’ neighborhoods as well. I guess that’s a good thing, because it would seem that your kids might be safer trick-or-treating amidst friends. But every year I politely decline, because, well, COSTUME.

I have only been to one costume-required Halloween party in my adult life, and it was probably 35 or 40 years ago. I remember that I dressed up as a doctor, but I remember little else about the party. I hate dressing up. I even hate wearing good pants and a clean blouse to go to church on Sunday. Being retired, I dress so casually that putting on something besides grundgy capri pants for Sunday Mass feels like a costume party.

I wasn’t entirely sure how the grandkids were dressing up this Halloween. I asked on a number of occasions, but each time I asked, it seemed like I got a different answer. Early yesterday morning, I got an instant message from Kaiya.

She: Nana, are you awake?

Me: Yes. Good morning.

She: Today is………………………………………HALLOWEEN!!!!

Maybe you have to be a kid to really understand the excitement. Frankly, I get more excited by Groundhog’s Day.

As our IM conversation continued, I learned that she was dressing up as a Spider Princess this year. I wasn’t aware that spiders had royal families, but indeed they must. I asked her to explain, and it seems the primary costume element was fake spider webs.

As the night went on, I began getting photos of the grandkids, starting with the Vermont clan, who went out trick-or-treating earliest. Despite the fact that Joseph is perhaps the sweetest-natured child I have ever known, he makes one heck of a scary Dracula, doesn’t he? As for Micah, he is ready to go out and fight crime. You can tell by his hands….

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Adelaide, who is 13, forwent trick-or-treating this year, and instead attended a party. Nevertheless, she is an exceptionally pretty panda bear. As for the others, well, Alastair – perhaps in honor of the World Series – went with a baseball theme. Dagny appears to be some sort of a spider vampire (I’m going by the vampire collar and the apparently-ever-popular spider webs) and Maggie Faith, well, I’m not sure. Maybe a fairy of some sort having a bad hair day?……

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Kaiya was, indeed, a spider princess. Mylee, for the third year in a row, went with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume. This year she was Raphael. As for Cole, he was scheduled to represent the animal kingdom as an adorable little fox. As it happens, he firmly eschewed his costume and elected to portray a Terrible Two-Year-Old boy instead. But he does it well…..

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We had a grand total of two trick-or-treaters in our mostly-adult neighborhood here in Mesa, AZ. Oh well. Leftover Butterfinger candy bars for us.

I must leave you with one more photo. Our daughter Heather makes one heck of a victim for Dracula, doesn’t she?……

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A Village

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470689730-2So, there’s this particular family that goes to the church we attend in Mesa, AZ. I almost can’t keep my eyes off of them. Here’s the makeup: There is a patriarch and a matriarch, somewhere in the neighborhood of my age or a bit older. They have three daughters, two of whom are married, and one of whom is not (or at least her significant other never attends Mass with them). One of the married daughters has two children, a girl and a boy; the other married daughter has five children, all boys (imagine that!). The aforementioned second daughter’s husband’s parents sit with them as well, as does his brother and wife, who have a young son. Have you lost count yet? Some iteration of two or three of the aforementioned people come to Mass early so as to save a couple of pews so that they can all sit together – every Sunday. As the Mass progresses, the kids – who range in age from somewhere around 10 all the way down to six or seven months – move around from parent to parent and grandparent to grandparent. In fact, the kids don’t even choose by blood relation, as they will sit on anyone’s lap.

Well, I will admit that the patriarch of the family doesn’t get much involved in the lap-sitting. He just gazes quietly at the brood, undoubtedly thinking that he – like Abraham – has descendants as abundant as the stars in the heavens.

They are a sight to behold, as you might imagine. So much love. Such committed faith. That crazy, mixed-up family most assuredly demonstrates the old African proverb it takes a village.

God loves us in the same way that the members of that family love one another. He loves us without thought to who we are, what we do for a living, what we look like, who we will vote for. Unconditional love.

The gospel reading demonstrates God’s unconditional love of us, through his son Jesus. In the gospel reading, Luke tells us about the tax collector (and isn’t it ALWAYS the tax collector?) who comes to hear Jesus speak. I admit to be a bit distracted by the fact that he was so short that he actually climbed a tree in order to hear Jesus teach. Nevertheless, climb the tree he does, as ridiculous as it must have looked, even back in those days. But rather than saying “Get out of that tree; you look plain silly,” Jesus instead suggests the man come down out of the tree, and then, to the horror of the crowd, invites himself to the tax collector’s house for dinner. Why? Because the tax collector is sorry for the wrongs he has committed on a daily basis and asks for God’s forgiveness. And because God loves all of us unconditionally.

Perhaps we too need to learn how to love people for who they are and not judge because they think differently than we do. As I look at social media every day, it becomes more and more apparent that we have become a people who point fingers at one another. We judge – and ARE judged – by our political choices and religious beliefs.

Perhaps Jesus’ suggestion that the man come down out of the tree is the 30 A.D. version of turning off Facebook, which is maybe what I ought to do for bit.

And appropo to nothing that I spoke of above, here is a photo of another spectacular AZ sunset from my brother’s patio, more proof of God’s love…..

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I guess the short man didn’t try to climb a cactus.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Hello, Lilly

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Though we are only here in AZ for a few weeks, we will miss our Denver grandkids. We have two who live in Vermont, and we keep in touch with them through the magic of Face Time, and we will do the same these three weeks with the others as well. In the meantime, my great-nieces and -nephews here will fill the gap. We had lunch yesterday with my niece Maggie and little 2-year-old Lilly. As we all got out of our respective cars at the restaurant, Lilly spotted us and ran on her two little legs right towards us……and right past me to Bill, jumping into his arms. The little rat fink! She warmed up at lunch, however……

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Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: All Summer Long

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imgresI really used to like author Dorothea Benton Frank. I loved her descriptions of life in the low country of South Carolina. I liked her ascerbic characters and their interesting lives. I even liked the romance that was almost always a part of her story.

But her last few books have been a disappointment, and All Summer Long was really the worse one yet. I have never in my life read a book that moved along more slowly and that featured characters in whom I was less interested.

Olivia Ritchie and her husband Nicholas Seymour have a lovely condo in New York City. Olivia is a very successful interior-designer-for-the-rich-and-famous and Nicholas was an English professor who has recently retired. Having been born and brought up in South Carolina low country, he has gotten Olivia to agree to sell their NYC home and move to SC. What Nicholas doesn’t know (apparently being the dumbest college professor who ever lived) is that the couple is nearly flat broke.

Olivia continues to try to build her business by wooing an exceptionally wealthy man and his southern belle wife (who must be one of Frank’s most predicable caricatures in any of her books). As such, much of the book takes place in settings other than South Carolina. Olivia and Nicholas fly to Caribbean islands and Spain and even spend time at a mansion in New Jersey. Seeings as the South Carolina setting is about the only thing the book has going for it, the book falls entirely flat.

The moral of the story, I guess, is that money doesn’t buy happiness. But it was hard for me to find the moral in the story since all of the characters were rich and all of the characters seemed to love being obnoxious, having no interest in changing.

I hardly ever finish a book that I so heartily dislike, but I just kept plugging along because I couldn’t believe that the author wouldn’t redeem herself and her characters in some way. She simply didn’t.

I recommend you not waste your time on this novel.

Here is link to the book.

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