Category Archives: Whimsies

Pill Canisters and Other Contraband

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imgresAfter spending a full week with our family in Vermont, Bill and I traveled with them to Montreal on Friday and flew back to Denver from there on Sunday. This pretty Canadian city is a short hour-and-a-half-or-so drive from Montpelier, and it feels like you are in a different country.

Oh, wait. You are in a different country. But it feels, well, really, really different. Like France, only with nice and friendly people who don’t get mad if you don’t speak French. It makes up for that whole mayonnaise-with-your-french-fries thingy.

Our trip home Sunday started as we flew on Air Canada from Montreal to Toronto. We

The offending pill canister.

The offending pill canister.

went through Customs in Toronto, where once again my pill canister caused a complete examination of my carry-on bag and considerable angst – by them, not me. This time I was prepared and things went a bit quicker. I saw her frantically rooting through my bag, and asked if she was by any chance looking for my silver pill canister. As an aside, I feel compelled to tell you I have carried this particular canister in my purse since Bill was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2009, and it has never caused a bit of concern; never once has it raised any TSA or United States Custom agents’ eyebrows. I’m blaming Colin Kaepernick.

By the way, in Customs, the other thing that caused them concern was my bottle of Benefiber that was in my carry-on because it wouldn’t fit in the suitcase we checked. Lifting it high in the air, the agent hollered over to her co-worker who sat 20 feet away from her, “Don’t worry, it’s only fiber powder.” Thank you for sharing my constipation issues with my fellow travelers who were already concerned about the silver canister. Now they also had to worry about crankiness due to uncomfortable abdominal bloating.

Air Canada is nice, my friends. It’s true you still have to pay for an assigned seat if you aren’t interested in grabbing a vacant seat in the manner of a 5-year-old playing musical chairs. I pay for the seat because I always feel somewhat guilty when I shove aside the elderly Catholic nun to get an aisle seat. Her rosary beads slow her down. Aside from that, however, you get a full-sized tray, your seat reclines a full inch-and-a-half, you get a free pop (including the can – whoo hoo!), you have access to Wi-Fi on many planes, and there are television screens from which you can watch movies or television (well, except you have to pay them 3 Canadian dollars for the earphones that are specially designed and cannot be substituted with the earphones you are carrying with you on the plane). It doesn’t matter, because I mostly read anyway.

Which brings me to the other thing that happened to me on our trip back to Denver. As we made the approximately-one-hour-flight from Montreal to Toronto, I happily read my Kindle book from my trusty iPad. Upon landing, I placed it in my carry-on, and off we went in search of our connecting flight. As I mentioned above, this required going through Customs as we were flying from a foreign country. Aside from the pill canister/Benefiber issue, Customs went flawlessly, given the fact that we weren’t trying to bring home live animals or illegal drugs.

We had about an hour to kill, and I carried my bag with me as we found our gate, then plopped it down at my feet when we found a place to have lunch.

Oh, I have another digression here. At the Toronto airport – or at least in the post-Customs side of the Toronto airport – they don’t have very much regular seating at the gates. Instead, they have this very cool seating where you sit at a table with your own personal iPad. From that iPad station, you can catch up on the news, order your lunch, select an appropriate beverage, and charge up any of your own equipment. It was very cool except for the fact that a sandwich cost 20 Canadian dollars and the cheapest glass of wine was 17 Canadian dollars. Both which I purchased, of course. It was very high tech and Star Trekie, if quite expensive.

Anyway, we boarded our Air Canada plane in Toronto, and for some reason, it was a much smaller plane with no Wi-Fi. No problem, however, because see above. I read. Except after we were up in the air, I pulled out my iPad only to find that at some point in Toronto, the volume button had gotten smushed and was thoroughly jammed. My iPad would do absolutely nothing but show that little volume icon. Bill spent a good 30 minutes using his fingernails, a pen, and various other things to which we had access to try and unsmush it, but to no avail. It was nothing but a flat, useless, metal item taking up room in my bag.

I thought I had the answer because the Kindle software is also on my phone. Alas, I hadn’t downloaded the book I was reading, so though I could see the book, I wasn’t able to read it. And guess what? No Wi-Fi on this plane because of its small size. I’m blaming Colin Kaepernick.

So I sat for three hours as we made our way across the central US states to Denver. Time goes very slowly when you are staring at the flight map. Even I find it interesting that I was willing to pay 17 Canadian dollars for a glass of wine but wouldn’t fork over 3 Canadian dollars for headphones. Priorities, my friends. I’m not made of money.

The good news is that we made it home safe, and Bill – in true MacGyver-like fashion – has jerry-rigged my iPad to work, at least for a bit. Like its owner, it wouldn’t win any beauty contests.

Tomorrow I will tell you all about Montreal.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Friday Book Whimsy: Giddy Up, Eunice: Because Women Need Each Other

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searchAuthor Sophie Hudson is a popular blogger who has two previous books under her belt. A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet and Home is Where My People Are both consist of a series of humorous vignettes or essays, and I found them both highly enjoyable. Hudson is immensely funny.

Giddy Up, Eunice is also a series of essays, but less family stories and more sermons. And I absolutely don’t mean that in a negative way. Hudson, who has talked about her mother, her mother-in-law, and others who provided love and guidance in her life, focuses this time on the importance of relationships between people of all ages, and the role these have in shaping our lives, particularly our spiritual lives.

Hudson does this in a way that is unfailingly funny and inarguably southern. She uses some of the more well-known women in the bible to illustrate her points. What did Mary do when she found out she was going to give birth to the long-awaited savior? She immediately went to visit her much-older cousin Elizabeth, who had her own role to play in Jesus’ life. They provided support to one another.

Likewise, the story of Naomi and Ruth illustrates the importance of the love of family. Naomi and Ruth pretty much saved one another, much as the author says we can help save our friends and family if we pay attention to their needs.

Giddy Up, Eunice is an equally wonderful book to give a friend who is firm in her faith, or a woman who is struggling with her relationship with God. I can guarantee it will make you laugh out loud, and make you think about your relationships with others.

Here is link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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Maple
In Vermont, it’s all things maple, and for good reason. Maple trees abound in this beautiful state. Yesterday Bill and Joseph and I drove to a nearby sugar farm to buy – what else? – a genuine maple creemee. That makes two so far, and I’m not even particularly a maple fan. But maple creemees, well that’s a different thing altogether. Cold, creamy goodness with a subtle maple flavor. Yum.

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This sign that we saw at the local ice cream stand says it all….

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Chasing Merlin
Two days in a row now, Merlin-the-Dog has taken advantage of our lax door closing abilities to make a break for it through a door that wasn’t tightly latched. Bill and I have spent waaay too much time chasing our loved ones’ dog, unsuccessfully bribing him with dog treats, diving for him only to come up empty, begging him to consider that his running away would be considered a Nana fail. Both times we finally caught up with him only because he tired out and gave up. Does he look tired?……

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Bon Jour
When not eating maple creemees, I am walking over to the beautiful French bakery a block from the house. Each day they offer a variety of scrumptious treats, none of which involve maple. I’m pretty sure the quick walk doesn’t offset the calories ingested…..

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Working Man
As usual, Bill has been keeping himself busy with all sorts of projects around Heather and Lauren’s house. Merlin (of the Great Escape fame) recently chewed the arms of one of their antique chairs, leaving an unsightly mess. Bill bought the necessary tools to sand the arms smooth and stained them back to the original color. However, yesterday when we left for a bit, upon our return, Merlin had once again chewed the daylights out of the chair arms. When Heather learned of Merlin’s naughtiness, she once again dragged out his wire kennel and informed him that he had lost his freedom privileges.

Ciao.

Choo Choo

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The bottom line is that there is no easy, one step way to get to Montpelier, VT, the smallest state capital in these United States. Some variation of trains, planes, and automobiles is required. Over the years, we’ve tried several options. Once we flew into Boston, via Milwaukee, hopped on a three-hour bus ride that took us to Hanover, NH, where Heather picked us up and drove us the hour or so to her home. No bueno.

We once flew into Manchester, NH, via – of all places – Orlando, FL. That time we rented a car and drove an hour and a half or so to Montpelier. Yet another time we flew into Burlington, VT, where Heather and Lauren picked us up to take us home. That time was fun because we went to a busker festival and saw Bernie Sanders casually walking down the street with no one paying him a bit of attention.

So this time we did something a bit different. We flew to NYC via Chicago, and spent the night in the city that never sleeps. Our overnight allowed us the chance to rest a bit and dine at one of my favorite restaurants – Becco’s. The next morning we walked the block or so to Penn Station where we boarded the Amtrak Vermonter, a passenger train that originates in Washington, DC, and concludes in St. Albans,VT, just short of Canada, making about ten thousand stops along the way. One of the stops is Montpelier, where this was awaiting for us…..

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…and this……

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From the time we stepped on the train until we stepped off in the rain to the glad greetings of Heather, Joseph, and Micah, eight-and-a-half hours had passed. I will admit it. I had envisioned seeing Hercule Poirot at a white-cloth-covered table in the dining car, eating escargot and drinking champagne by candlelight and wearing black tie. What I saw instead was a microwave, plastic forks, and a crabby food server who took frequent cigarette breaks in what was optimistically called the Club Car. Hercule was no where to be seen.

Having said that, I found about seven hours of the trip to be quite pleasant. The train moved along at a perky pace, and the stops, while frequent, were short. I had thought I might sleep because I knew I wouldn’t feel compelled to stay awake to keep the vehicle safe in the way that I do when I fly. Instead, however, I found myself hypnotically enjoying the pretty scenery and the smooth movement of the train. I didn’t even open my book. I watched the countryside of New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Vermont fly by.

I will, however, admit that by the last hour or so, I was ready to be done. It had started to rain, the train was going right through a wooded area, hereby preventing any sort of view beyond trees, trees, and more trees. I have nothing against trees; I just missed the expansive scenic views.

And I was hungry. I ate a soggy microwaved sandwich for lunch, but simply couldn’t do one for dinner. I texted our Montpelier folks and requested a pizza stop upon arrival. Having the McLain pizza-loving genes, they were more than happy to oblige. In fact, Joseph – a growing 7-year old – ate two big slices of pepperoni pizza despite having eaten a full dinner shortly before.

We have enjoyed our several days here so far. Micah has been in school, but we have spent much time with Joseph, and what a treat that has been.

Well, except for the near miss at breakfast yesterday morning that had trained staff running toward us ready to perform the Heimlich on Joseph. No worries. It was unnecessary. No harm; no foul.

As you can see (in the world’s worst selfie) shortly after the crisis was averted…..

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The City Doesn’t Sleep, But We Did

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I can say with the utmost redundancy that this is a true fact: I felt the energy of New York City the second I got off the plane. La Guardia was crowded, dirty, and noisy. If it was any other way, I would have thought I was in Portland, Oregon. We had fewer than 24 hours with places to go and people to see.

Because I was with Bill McLain and Bill McLain doesn’t do cabs, we took a shuttle from the airport to our hotel. But, as usual, it was the way to go. Not only was it considerably cheaper, thereby allowing us to spend more money on important things like food and adult beverages, it also allowed us the opportunity to see different parts of the city. In fact, our driver took a very convoluted route through neighborhoods (about a thousand miles an hour) and side streets to get into Manhattan in a heartbeat.

He stopped in front of our hotel, the Renaissance Midtown, a block from Penn Station and spitting distance from the Empire State Building. We checked in after some confusion because the hotel inexplicably reserved my room under my married name from my first husband, and I’m trying hard not to think about how that happened. (Perhaps he will pay the bill as well.) Our room was way cool. Way cooler than either of us for sure. The ceiling was concrete and the shower was transparent on both sides so that the shower taker had absolutely no privacy. And as our 7 year old grandson Joseph said when he heard that: Ewwwwww.

But none of that mattered because we had reservations that night at Becco Restaurant, one of the dining establishments owned by Lidia Bastianich. I knew. I SIMPLY KNEW. This was going to be the night that she was going to come out of the kitchen, our eyes would meet, and she would invite me back into the kitchen to ask me what her cioppino needed to improve the flavor.

Well, once again, it didn’t happen; nevertheless, Bill and I had a delicious meal. I had the nightly pasta special that this night included spinach ravioli, spaghetti with roasted veggies, and penne alla vodka with shrimp…..

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Bill had a perfectly cooked rib eye steak….

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We decided against dessert, electing instead to take a cab over to Eataly, Lidia’s splendid Italian market. And yes, I said we took a cab. Bill’s resistance was lowered in large part because of the bottle of wine we had enjoyed with dinner. Following the wine we had before dinner.

We did a bit of shopping at her market that was surprisingly busy for 10:30 at night. A glass of sambucca seemed fitting to close out our night….

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Though we only had one short night in the city that never sleeps, I think we made good use of it. And as we prepared for bed, Joseph will be glad to know that I indeed didn’t look. Then it was on to our next adventure as we made our way to Vermont.

Stick ‘Em Up

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imageBill and I were feeling pretty smug when we headed towards security at DIA on Saturday morning. We had spent a nice night at the fancy schmancy Westin Hotel at the airport because our plane left at 6 a.m. Even so, we got up before 4 to ensure we got through security in a timely manner.

But, you see, the reason we were feeling smug is because for reasons we still don’t understand,we were pre-approved by TSA. What did that mean in practical terms? We didn’t have to take off our shoes or belts, and our electronic devices could remain snuggly in our carry on luggage. Should be a breeze, no?

No. Oh, Bill got through in record time, but I was apparently giving off DANGER DANGER DANGER vibes.

First, I was “randomly” selected to go through the fancy x-ray machine instead of the simple machine that Bill walked through with no problem. You know, the machine where they see me in my entirety as I helplessly hold my hands above my head. Randomly selected. I should have headed right out to purchase a lottery ticket.

Except I couldn’t because they carried away my black and white chevron striped bag after it had gone through x-ray with terribly concerned looks on their faces. Like perhaps they had come face to face with a terrorist. Wearing flip flops and a cross necklace.

As Bill patiently waited (he had passed security), they began rooting wildly through my bag.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “We’re looking for the CO2 cartridge you have in your bag,” he said angrily.

CO2 cartridge? I don’t even know what that means. Oh, I know what CO2 is, and I know what a cartridge is, but I also know I don’t have one in my bag.

“Well,” I said patiently. “What would be something normal that isn’t a CO2 cartridge but looks like one?”

And I swear to you that he said, “There isn’t anything else it could be. You have a CO2 cartridge in here.”

By this time, Bill has joined me, and I asked him what for what reason anyone would have a CO2 cartridge. “If you had a pistol,” Bill replied, looking at me warily. Which I didn’t.

In the meantime, Mr. TSA was still desperately searching every nook and cranny of my bag, going through every pocket and getting more frustrated by the minute. Terrorist suspects bring out the worse in TSA agents, and for good reason.

Finally he said, “Well, I’m going to put this through the x-ray again and find out where that cartridge is.

Okey dokey. Because by this time we were approaching boarding time.

He came back in a few minutes and said, rather sheepishly, “Do you have something in here that is a cylinder and has a key attached?”

Yep. Which I would have told him if he had answered my question about what else could resemble a CO2 cartridge.

The little carrying case attached to my key in which I carry Bill’s extra pills.

And so I was let go without having to spend time in a holding cell and the crisis was averted.

Here’s the thing. I respect TSA and would prefer they err on the side of caution. But so much time could have been saved if he would just have considered that what he saw could be something else other than a CO2 cartridge. I mean, seriously. An old lady in flip flops.

Saturday Smile: Butter Up

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As they wrap up their summer, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Magnolia are in Iowa, along with their family, visiting their Grandma Lynne’s old stomping grounds. One of their activities was attending the Iowa State Fair.

These city slicker kids got to experience rural America, including watching a calf be born. But the highlight was that Alastair was able to enter the Iowa State Fair Butter Carving Contest.

AND TOOK FIRST PLACE WITH HIS BUTTER CAR!

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So if he doesn’t grow up to be a Shakespeare scholar or a famous architect, he can be a food sculptor. Butter today, ice tomorrow.

But don’t forget that it all started with butter, as all things should.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Haunting of Hill House

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searchWhen I was a little girl, my mother would occasionally let me stay up on Saturday night and watch the weekly scary movie. One such Saturday, I saw the movie The House on Haunted Hill for the first time. Seriously, can anyone be scarier than Vincent Price? Wua hahahaha.

I have watched this movie a couple of times as an adult, and while the special effects are considerably less than special in comparison to movies made now, it is just a scary movie.

Because I liked The House on Haunted Hill, when the book The Haunting of Hill House came to my attention (Amazon? Goodreads? Pinterest?), I looked into it. While the story is not exactly the same, the movie clearly took its lead from Shirley Jackson’s creepy story.

Dr. Montague studies the phenomenon of ghosts. As part of his studies, he brings together a group of three – his assistant Theodora; Luke, who will eventually inherit the house; and Eleanor, who has had experiences with ghosts in the past. His idea is to bring the ghosts out into the open so that he can study them.

The book is creepy, there is no question about it. Written in 1959, it reminded me of Alfred Hitchcock’s famous Psycho, considered by many to be one of the scariest movies of all time. There is no blood and gore, no one gets slashed, there are not even any actual appearances by ghosts. There are only noises in the old mansion, and cold spots and drafts that indicate the ghosts’ presence. More than just a ghost story, this is the story of a vulnerable woman going mad.

Despite the lack of blood and gore, the book KEPT ME AWAKE AT NIGHT, ladies and gentlemen. It was creepy beyond belief.

I LOVED it.

The book was actually made into a movie, though not The House on Haunted Hill. Two movies, in fact. The original was released in 1963 and starred Julie Christie as Eleanor. It is apparently much better than the movie re-released in 1999.

Having read the book, I think I will pass on the movie, thank you very much. I can only lose so much sleep.

Here is link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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As Arnold Says, I’ll Be Back
Bill and I are leaving this weekend for a big adventure, one that should generate a few blog stories. We are ultimately heading to visit our family in Vermont; however, we are taking an interesting and, hopefully, a fun route. We will fly into NYC, spend a night in the city, and then get on a train – the Vermonter – to travel directly to Montpelier where our family lives. I am mostly telling you all this because there is a likelihood – though not a certainty – that my blogging will be hit-or-miss. I have been quite faithful about my Monday – Saturday blogging, except for rare occasions that mostly involved hospital visits. But I might take a day or two of vacation. Don’t worry. I will be back! In the meantime, I will be kissing and hugging our two Vermont grandchildren.

August Round-up
August is a busy birthday month for us. Not only was Court born on August 8 and Jll on August 17, but we have a total of three – count ‘em – three grandchildren’s birthdays in August. Dagny opens up the festivities on August 7 (this year she turned 10); next comes Micah, who turned 4 yesterday (though he’s pretty sure he’s 5; quite insistent, in fact); Kaiya finishes off the celebrating on August 22, when she will turn 8. This year I have a perfect trifecta of being absent for the birthdays. I was in Estes Park for Dagny’s, Micah was in a car yesterday driving back to Vermont from a Chicago visit with his parents, and I will be in Vermont for Kaiya’s celebration. Dang. Still, they are all special……

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Wrap it Up
Every year about this time, I lose my will to live when it comes to my garden flowers. They start looking leggy. Rain is scarce, so they require more watering. I am totally fed up to here of hauling hoses and watering cans back and forth. This year, in particular, I have given up. I will give my flowers a good soaking before we leave, and then will see how they fare in the week we are gone. Survival of the fittest and all. If God wants them to live, he will send rain. My vegetable garden is kind of sad. It was going great guns until a hail storm a few weeks ago pretty much did it in. My cherry tomato plant looks pretty good, but the tomatoes are scarce. My jalapeno plant has been providing peppers for a few weeks. My other pepper plant has peppers, but they are supposed to be orange and still aren’t. I might ask my neighbor to throw some water on my vegetable garden just to prove I’m not the Hannibal Lector of the garden world. Despite my crabby attitude, my petunias are pretty….

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God of Wine: Who Knew?
bacchus3Bill and I, in an effort to not produce any leftovers a couple of days before we leave, dined out last night. (I’m putting a good spin on the motive because the fact of the matter is that I simply didn’t feel like cooking.) As we waited for a table to come available at our neighborhood Italian restaurant – Piccolo’s – Bill noticed a Roman bust hanging on the wall in the bar area in which we were seated.  “Who do you guess that is?” he asked me. Not knowing the first thing about Roman history, I guessed the only Roman I knew who might be on a bust – Julius Caesar. “I think it’s Alexander the Great,” Bill said. I would have been satisfied at that point, but he, of course, looked it up. “Nope, I’m wrong,” he said. “Alexander the Great isn’t shown with a beard.” “Really?” I faked interest. “Whatevah,” I actually thought. One would think it would be over, wouldn’t one? But while we were dining, the restaurant’s proprietor, Vince Canino, walked by. Bill called him over and asked him about the bust. Rather than looking annoyed like I suspected he would, Vince instead laughed and said, “I will give you one hint. He’s the god of wine.” Without missing a beat, Bill said, “Oh, Bacchus.” He was, of course, correct. “How did you know?” I asked him. “Oh, everyone knows that,” Bill said, at which point I wanted to dump my wine over him and let the god of wine clean it up!

Glick Glick
Finally, on our way home last night, we spotted the most beautiful full moon you can imagine. With my World’s Worst Phone Camera and my World’s Worst Photography Skills, I attempted to capture the image.

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It reminded me of a poem my grandmother used to say when there was a full moon. Pardon my misspelled German words:

Mund, du bist so glucklich; glucklicher als ich.
Eins war ich glucklicher als du.
Er kusste mich, and du sas zu.

Which loosely means

Moon, you are so lucky; luckier than I.
Once I was luckier than you.
He kissed me, and you only watched.

Don’t ask me why I can remember that poem because I can barely remember what day of the week it is. However, Grammie recited the poem enough to us that when Bec was a little girl, whenever there was a full moon, she would tell our parents, “Look, the moon is glick glick. Last night’s moon was glick glick.

Ciao.