Category Archives: Whimsies

Treasure Hunting

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Since I haven’t quite figured out Pokemon, it stands to reason that I am considerably confused about Pokemon GO. But I’ve been seeing bits and pieces about Pokemon GO in social media for a while now. I haven’t really paid much attention to it beyond noting that once again I have no idea what a Pokemon is and it makes me feel like I’m in the Dark Ages.

So I did what any baby boomer living in the 21st century worth her salt would do – I googled Pokemon GO. It seems Pokemon GO is a game played via an app on one’s phone in which one looks for virtual characters (called Pokemon) using GPS coordinates.

Wait, what?

I’ve been doing that kind of thing for years. It’s called geocaching, and it’s been around since 2000.

Oh sure, geocaching doesn’t involve creation of an avatar or cool graphics. But there are literally millions of geocaches (actual THINGS and not virtual) placed around the world for which so-called geocachers hunt using the GPS devices on their telephones. It’s a blast.

Geocaching began in 2000 when President Clinton lifted the restrictions on John and Joan Q. Public’s ability to use GPS. Prior to 2000, the double secret government peeps felt it was too risky to let the plebes have access to such valuable information. So, while GPS was available, it was highly unreliable. You might have been trying to find your way to the grocery store and ended up instead at a Chinese massage parlor. Risky business.

Once Clinton lifted the restrictions, American people did what American people do – became creative and invented a game in which participants use their now-reliable GPS to find treasures, and called it geocaching.

My granddaughter Maggie Faith asked me the other day why it is called geocaching, and I will tell you exactly what I told her: I haven’t the foggiest idea but it probably has to do with something high techie. You can see why my grandkids ask me so many questions. My answers are so insightful.

And speaking of Maggie Faith, reading about Pokemon GO and thinking about geocaching got me in the mood to geocache. While I can (and have) done it by myself, it is much more fun to have a companion or two. So I sent an invite to the grandkids, and two of them took the bait – Dagny and Magnolia. They have been faithful geocachers with me in the past, though we haven’t often been successful. But they are always game for an adventure.

We drove (well, I drove and they sat in the back eagerly asking questions about where we were going) to an area in which I had noted there was an easy geocache. The notes on the website indicated it was large enough to hold some trinkets. (Part of geocaching is that some containers are large enough to hold little treasures such as inexpensive rings or fancy erasers; you can take one of the trinkets as long as you leave a replacement. There are no geocache police to ensure that the unwritten rule is followed; however, geocachers, like Morman missionaries, are an honest lot.) The note also said the container was wrapped in aqua duct tape.

While I tried to get my GPS up and running, Dagny and Maggie set off on the hunt. I was still fiddling with my phone when I heard Maggie holler, “I FOUND IT!” Indeed, she had. It was hidden behind a large tree. Oh, was she ever proud.

We did the trinket exchange, and set off on our second hunt just down the road. This one indicated it would be more difficult, and the heavy tree coverage impacted my GPS. We were in a very hoity toity Denver suburb not far from my not-hoity-toity neighborhood, so a yellow bug parked on the side of the street and an adult and two kids wandering around looking under bushes and rocks looked plenty suspicious. I wasn’t surprised when a car pulled over and the woman driving asked if we needed some help.

I tried to explain what we were doing so that the she wouldn’t pull out a concealed weapon. I described it as a scavenger hunt, and told her our instructions indicated that it was hidden on a horse trail. “Was there a horse trail nearby?” I asked her.

She was very nice and pointed out a horse trail that we hadn’t spotted. After thanking her, we took off. I followed my GPS’s directions until it informed me “YOU ARE VERY CLOSE.” Since I didn’t know the program notified me when the geocache is nearby, the three of us nearly jumped out of our skin. We began hunting, and it was only seconds before Dagny this time shouted, “I FOUND IT!” And, again, she had. It was much harder to spot as it was not wrapped in aqua duct tape, but rather in camouflaged tape.

Maggie Dagny geocache 2016

Two for two. Nana’s turn to find the next one.

We drove to a nearby church where there allegedly was another geocache. My GPS got us to the point where it again told us “YOU ARE VERY CLOSE.” This time we didn’t jump. But we also didn’t find the treasure. And by this time we were closing in on the time the little ones were to be home for dinner.

But we didn’t give up; instead, we returned the next day, and brought along the big gun — Papa….

papa dagny mags geocaching

With his help, we found three more geocaches, including the one at the church (which I found, yay!, and had one fail.

We aren’t giving up. Our plan is to go again soon and find the one we couldn’t find during our last try. My two little game geocachers are already begging for more.

Take that, Pokemon GO!

Play Dates

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Like most Baby Boomers, from the time school let out at the beginning of summer until I trudged the seven blocks back to school after Labor Day with my shiny new school supplies and my book bag left over from the previous year or handed down from my sister, I played outside.

After a breakfast of Frosted Flakes with bananas on top (as a wink and a nod towards actual nutrition), I put on my pedal pushers and my sleeveless plaid blouse, considered – then rejected – my flip-flops (then called thongs), and ran outside barefoot to my back patio.

“Eee-ah-kee, Kathy,” I yelled at the top of my lungs. This was my way of contacting my best neighborhood friend and inviting her to come out and play.

“Eee-ah-kee,” she would respond, and be over at my house in a heartbeat.

I don’t know what eee-ah-kee means or from whence it originated. We are not American Indian. It just became our cry for fellowship. There was, by the way, no need to holler, as my childhood friend was just a quick scamper past our garage and through Mrs. Benda’s garden. But holler, we did.

And play, we did. Games that called for imagination. Riding our bikes. Playing tag. Spying on the neighbors to the south. Playing with our Barbie dolls. Writing and performing plays in front of our patient mothers and neighbors. Occasionally stopping for a glass of Kool-Aid that was toxically loaded with red dye. Taking a break for a salami sandwich and milk. Finishing up quickly as I heard in the distance, “Eee-ah-kee, Kris.”

More call to play.

Baby Boomers everywhere recall these days with joyful nostalgia. Metal playground equipment that was scalding to the touch which didn’t stop us from using them. Merry-go-rounds that you took turns pushing as hard as you could. Mostly we stayed on, but sometimes someone fell off and required Mercurochrome and a band-aid. See? It wasn’t all sunshine and roses. We actually hurt ourselves. We had scabs to prove it. Mercurochrome, by the way, was banned by the FDA in 1998. It’s a wonder we’re still alive.

I often see postings on social media from fellow Baby Boomers recalling these simpler days. I know that our kids are safer now than we were. I don’t purport that we return to the days of riding bikes without helmets. But still, I don’t see scores of Baby Boomers wearing head gear caused by falling off a merry-go-round.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a link to an article from the reputable publication Psychology Today. This article, written by a smartypants as indicated by the fact that he has a Ph.D., reports that rates of depression and anxiety among young people are on the rise, and have been for several decades. He goes on to say that this psychological phenomenon appears to have nothing to do with the idea that our world is inherently more dangerous. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, World War II, and the ensuing years when we all thought we were going to be blasted to Kingdom Come by a nuclear bomb coming straight out of the Soviet Union, we were all still happy campers.

And the reason for the increase according to Dr. Peter Gray? Kids no longer have a sense of personal control over what is going to happen to them. The reason, he goes on to say, is that kids no longer play outside unwatched by any sort of parental figure. Instead, they have Play Dates. As a result, kids no longer solve their own problems. They don’t figure out how to fight their own battles. Instead, parents help their kids make decisions (when they’re not actually making the decisions for them). Parents are choosing their kids’ friends. Kids aren’t able to choose their own interests. Instead, they are put on soccer teams and into gymnastic classes. They must study, study, study because they have to get into the best schools and for heaven’s sake, they MUST go to college. As a result, they are spending more time than ever in school, and less time in free play with their friends.

I don’t know if Dr. Smartypants is right or not. My grandkids seem perfectly happy with their lives. But it does make me sort of sad that they haven’t the opportunity to experience summer in the same way that I did.

And, by the way, kids still drink red Kool-Aid, though I’m certain it’s made with safer coloring.

Here is a photo courtesy of a fellow grade school classmate who somehow had access to this permanent reminder of our youth. I am pretty sure I am the little girl with my back to the camera in the middle row, third from the right, uncharacteristically wearing my glasses. The top row features the women who served us every day at cafeteria. While they look wholly unpleasant (except for the woman on the far right who didn’t get the memo that she shouldn’t smile), I recall them actually being quite pleasant. Ah, sweet youth….

cafeteria line circa 1960 (2)

 

Take Me Home Oh Muddah Faddah

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Hello Muddah, hello Fadduh,
Here I am at Camp Grenada
Camp is very entertaining
and they say we’ll have some fun if it stops raining. – Allan Sherman and Lou Busch

When I was young, my mom dangled the option of going away to summer camp for a week in front of my eyes.  I responded with a resounding  NO, THANK YOU. She tried sweetening the deal: Beckie would be there. Nope. That didn’t help.

As I have mentioned in the past, I was an unfailing, written-in-permanent-marker Mama’s Girl. When Mom and Dad would go out for dinner and leave me (and my siblings) at my grandmother’s apartment above the bakery (where we received lots of affection and sweet treats), I would sit in the window and watch for their car to drive up on the street down below. Likewise, every summer my parents would put me on a bus to Grand Island – about an hour away from Columbus – to visit my cousin Shari who was my age. I loved the idea of the visit, but after about a day-and-a-half, I was on the telephone asking my mom to come and retrieve me.

But I will tell you the truth about my unwillingness to go to camp. Yes, it’s true that I knew I would be homesick  for my mommy  (just like in the Hello Muddah Hello Faddah song that was popular for a brief period in 1963 and won a Grammy award in 1964, further proving that ANYTHING could be popular in the 60s). But as much as anything else, camp was a no-go for me because I knew they would try to teach me to swim. I didn’t want to learn to swim, as I have noted again and again on this blog. I will die unable to swim, and I am perfectly fine with that. There will be no swimming pools in heaven, at least not for me.

Let me tell you, however, Addie, Alastair, Dagny, and Maggie Faith do love them some summer camp. They attend a church camp located in a spectacular area between Estes Park and Lyons in the mountains of Colorado. They all go for one week each year and miss their parents NOT ONE SINGLE BIT. Dagny, in fact, doesn’t even take the time to read the daily emails all of her loved ones dutifully send her to combat homesickness until she is on the drive home. She apparently pulls them out of her pack at that point and catches up on the news from Denver. Note to self: Should a tragedy occur during the week of summer camp, DON’T NOTIFY DAGNY BY EMAIL.

This year Addie begged her parents to allow her to go to summer camp twice – Addie Camp Performance 2 2016two full nonconsecutive weeks. They told her they would allow her to go for two weeks, but they would only pay for one of those weeks. If she wanted to go to another week, she would have to pay for it herself. That is exactly what she did. She earned money to pay for camp. But she also took the initiative and applied for a scholarship, which she was awarded. And thus, she completed M.A.D. Camp this past Friday. M.A.D., by the way, stands for music, art, and drama.

Seeings as at age 3 Addie performed a self-composed one-man musical for my sister Jen and me in my backyard splash pool, it is no surprise to anyone that she is a natural-born performer. M.A.D. Camp was made for Addie.

Friday afternoon Bill and I drove to her camp outside Allenspark and watched the final performance of the play the middle-school-aged campers had been working on the entire week. Shockingly, Addie was the outstanding performer. She sang a solo, and her voice was clear as a bell and very pretty. Her acting was appropriately animated. She not only remembered every one of her lines, but I could tell she knew everyone else’s lines as well. It was only with great difficulty that she barely refrained from saying the lines along with them under her breath. Her lips almost didn’t move.

addie camp performance 2016

I’m happy that my grandkids aren’t as wimpy as their nana and that they all enjoy camp so much. It pleases me that they don’t get homesick, apparently not one little bit. And as for Dagny, I’m going to stop sending her emails and then just tell her she must have lost mine on the trip home.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Pulling Your Weight

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The other day when a few of the grandkids were visiting, Mylee came up to me and told me that Alastair had asked her to bring him a glass of water with ice. “Can you help me, Nana?” she asked me.

I helped her get the water for Alastair, wondering how that whole transaction came about. A few minutes later, she came back with her fist in a ball and a big smile on her face.

“Alastair paid me a quarter for getting him water,” she said, opening her fist and showing me the quarter. I was going to demand my twelve-and-a-half cents, but decided to take the high road.

When Mylee’s dad came to pick her up, as they walked to the car, she proudly showed him the quarter she had earned.

“I’m bringing some money into our family,” she told her dad.

Mylee quarter 2016

Well, it’s about time.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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Down By the Schoolyard
Tuesday afternoon I had some time to kill and a back that was hurting for reasons I can’t explain. (Lord knows it wasn’t from hard work!) Anyway, I had put the movie Maid in Manhattan on “My List” on Netflix, and I decided to spend a couple of mindless hours watching it. I had seen it before, but for some reason, I like that movie. Perhaps it’s because it stars Jennifer Lopez, a performer I really like, though admittedly her acting – at least  in this movie – leaves a lot to be desired. My liking this movie is certainly DESPITE her co-star Ralph Fiennes, an actor I abhor for no good reason whatsoever. While I half-expected to look back afterwards and think well, there’s two hours of my life I’ll never get back, that isn’t what happened. I’m a sucker for a love story, predictable or not. And it started off well because the song that opens the movie is Me and Julio Down By the Schoolyard, by Paul Simon. I double-dog-dare you to listen to that song without tapping your feet and singing along. One of my favorite songs EVER. In fact, that movie has lots of good music. No chemistry between J-Lo and Fiennes, however.

The New Kale
imgresI recently got something on my Facebook timeline feed that indicated that the vegetable kohlrabi was making a comeback. In fact, according to whatever it was I read, kohlrabi is the new kale. Because kale is apparently losing its luster, I feel safe to admit that I simply loathe that particular green leafy vegetable. And I am a lover of green leafy vegetables. The only exception is the Tuscan soup (aka Zuppa Toscana) that, in addition to kale, also includes Italian sausage and potatoes. Perhaps it’s the Italian sausage and potatoes that makes the kale palatable. Anyway, I had great plans to write an entire blog post about kohlrabi in which I would tell you all about my grandmother and how she served kohlrabi and how delicious I thought it was. As part of this proposed blog post, I was going to include a recipe for kohlrabi, including photos of the kohlrabi which I would have prepared. Unfortunately, word about kohlrabi being the next kale hasn’t reached Denver, because not only can I not find it at any grocery store, but when I ask, the produce people look at me blankly as though I’m speaking Bengali. I am not giving up.

Crustaceans
Our son Court and his family recently returned from Maine, where they attended the wedding of Alyx’s sister. For the rehearsal dinner, the bridal couple offered fresh Maine lobsters. Yum. They shipped in 40 pounds of them, and, not surprisingly, they were apparently delicious.

40 lbs lobsters 2016

At some point Court and Alyx’s brother Kemo challenged one another to a lobster-eating contest. Court was the victor with a total of six whole lobsters. He won  by a mere claw. Kaiya was brave enough to handle a live lobster…..

Kaiya lobsters

When the Cows Come Home
Tuesday was Dress Like a Cow Day at Chick-Fil-A. I’m not sure if that’s what they called it, but apparently anyone who wore cowlike clothing into the restaurant received a free entrée. I connected up with my niece Maggie and her family that morning at Chick-Fil-A to say goodbye as they were leaving for Arizona later that afternoon. Not ones to miss out on a good deal, here is who I found……

Mark Lilly cows 7.16 (2)

Yikes. When Mark Jensen hears Dress Like a Cow, he dresses like a cow. You can barely see Lilly’s cow vest, but it’s there.

Ciao.

Ain’t it a Shame?

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imgresI recently took one of the ten or twenty thousand quizzes that show up on my Facebook feed every week dealing with everything from what does your favorite Pokeman say about you to which Disney princess are you. I will admit that I am a sucker for those quizzes when they show up on my timeline. I never publish the results, but I very often take the quiz. By the way, I wouldn’t take the Pokeman quiz because despite the fact that some of my grandkids are fans, I have never quite figured out what a Pokeman is so I certainly don’t have a favorite. Now the Disney princess is a different story. Oh Belle….

However, the quiz I recently took dealt with grammar, and which grammatical mistakes most annoy me. According to the developer-of-the-quiz, they could predict my age by what grammatical mistakes grate most on my nerves.

I took the quiz and learned that I am 19 years old. Hmmmm.

The reason the quiz so misjudged my age, I think, is because I couldn’t really answer the questions fairly.  The fact of the matter is that ALL grammatical errors annoy me (being old and therefore easily annoyed), so I would just randomly select my answer. This isn’t to say that I have perfect grammar. I don’t. My grammar particularly suffers when I’m speaking, and is a bit better when I write. Still, far from perfect.

Nevertheless, spelling and grammatical errors bug me. Must I be the editor for the entire world I often ask my husband. Aren’t I so full of myself? I wonder how many grammatical errors are in this very blog post. Don’t tell me.

My mother used correct grammar and was a good speller as well. I think the two often go hand-in-hand. I know what grammatical error she found most annoying:  Saying these ones or those ones. While I wouldn’t say that is the grammatical error that makes me the most crazy, I always notice when someone uses that phrase (which is frequently) because I heard my mother complain through gritted teeth very often when she would hear someone say something like these ones are my kids’ favorite or make sure you put those ones on the top. Like fingernails on a chalkboard to her.

There are certain grammatical mistakes that I probably wouldn’t make if I was writing, but would very possibly make when I was speaking. For example, I probably often say something like there’s pickles in the refrigerator, but I would correctly write there ARE pickles in the refrigerator. Verb/subject disagreement doesn’t particularly bother me. I’m fairly disagreeable myself so who am I to talk.

The same holds true for the correct use of who and whom. I wouldn’t want to speculate on just how often I misuse those words. I know, I know, who is the subject; whom is a direct object. Still, it’s difficult for me to remember.

And speaking of it’s, I’m not sure why that word is so often misspelled because the rule is simple: the only time it is ever spelled it’s is if you are saying it is. Otherwise, it’s its. Even if it doesn’t make sense (i.e, possessive its), simply memorize that simple rule.

I guess if you put my feet to the fire and made me commit to the grammatical error I find most annoying, it would be the incorrect use of less and fewer. The incorrect use of those two words is one of the few grammatical errors that makes me crazy in both written and spoken form. Grocery people: it’s not 15 or less items; it’s 15 or fewer items. And don’t hate me if I come with 16 items.

My sister Bec (who was a high school English teacher for many years) is as good a grammarian as anyone I know. I frequently ask her questions about the correct use of a word or phrase.  We were both in attendance at our niece Jessie’s final capstone presentation prior to graduating. It isn’t surprising that we were both clueless on the topic her group presented: the feasibility of using paper pulp with a polymer as a substitution for clay in a landfill. What? But at some point someone in her group misused less and fewer. I hasten to add that it wasn’t Jess. Afterwards, Bec and I looked at each other and I said, “Did you understand any of that?” Bec admitted she didn’t understand a word, but added, “I did hear someone incorrectly say less instead of fewer.

I laughed out loud, because I had noted it as well.

Must we be the editors for the entire world?

Honesty is the Best Policy

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ADIP-465_copy__15543__36849__07284.1426615144.1280.1280__28972.1436804429.1280.1280Bill and I went to Lowe’s yesterday afternoon to buy some wood so that Bill can put up chair rails in the bedroom that we are tackling next, remodeling-wise. After much discussion, we selected our pattern and took the six pieces of wood rail up to the cashier. She used her little scanning gun and binked it four times, then moved on to the next item. Bill stopped her and politely told her that there were six pieces of wood rather than four. As you would imagine, she was grateful for his honesty.

Now, I don’t know if this was part of Mom’s and Dad’s always stay humble and kind philosophy that I discussed in a recent blog post, but I am scrupulously honest. So is Bill.

We were recently at a restaurant and when I got the bill, I uncharacteristically studied it. I say uncharacteristically because I never, ever glance at a bill. I wonder how many times I have been overcharged or undercharged and never knew it. Anyhoo, as I looked at this bill, it appeared that we had only been charged for one Diet Coke rather than the correct two. The server noticed me looking at my bill and came over to see if there was a problem.

“Well, I think so,” I said. “It looks like you only charged us for one drink and we got two.”

She looked at the bill and pointed out to me that the bill said something like beverage X 2. Well, duh. Being so durn smart and all, you would think I could have figgered it out.

“It would have been in your favor, you know,” she said, rather snippily I thought.

Does that matter, I wondered. Because in my mind, it doesn’t.

I promise you that I’m not in danger of throwing my shoulder out of joint because I’m so busy patting myself on the back for my honesty. To me, it’s just common sense. Like I used to say to Jen when we were little and bickering (which was often, always her fault): I don’t care if you think you’re right because Mom knows and God knows. Boom. Mom, right up there in the all-knowing category with God.

So, recognizing that God sees all things and Thou shall not steal is one of the big 10 (not to be confused with the Big 10 Conference, of which the University of Nebraska is one), why take any chance on committing a sin, even if it is only venial? But a large part of it, I think, is that Mom and Dad owned a business, and likely got ripped off plenty in their day. We learned how that impacts a business owner. That’s why the day that I bought groceries at Safeway and was all the way out to my car before I realized that I hadn’t paid for a gallon of orange juice that was on the bottom of my cart, I went back and stood in line to pay for it. The cashier looked at me like I was nuts, I can tell you.

Bill and I have a restaurant that we enjoy going to when we are willing to spend a bit more for a nice meal. They have a program whereby when you register, you get two things: $10 off your meal on your wedding anniversary and a percentage off of your meal equivalent to your age on your birthday. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I got a full 62 percent off of my meal last December. Suuuuweeet! Can’t wait until I’m 100! I hope I still have teeth.

I got the gift certificate via email a week before our recent anniversary. We used it that week, getting the ten bucks off of our meal. And then two weeks later, I received a second email, identical to the first, but with a new expiration date. I was puzzled, but reluctant to look a gift horse in the mouth.

But I fretted. The whole way to the restaurant Bill and I discussed whether or not it was right that I was using this coupon when I had already gotten ten bucks off an anniversary meal. I didn’t sign up twice, I thought. Maybe they allow one for each of the two people celebrating the anniversary, I rationalized. It’s not my fault if they have computer issues, I justified.

But at the end of the day, we couldn’t do it. I don’t know why they sent me a second coupon. But it doesn’t matter.

Because Mom knows and God knows.

The Battle of the Orange and Cream

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Sometime in the past year or so, Bill and I discovered Stewart’s diet sodas. In particular, we were thrilled to taste their root beer and their orange and cream diet sodas.

For a while, they were sold at Fry’s grocery store, the Arizona version of Kroger. At some point, they stopped stocking them, or at least stopped stocking the diet versions. I was sad until I discovered I could buy them at a little fruit and vegetable market not far from our Arizona home. They don’t give them away – a buck forty-nine a bottle. The pop, however, is well worth the price as both the orange and cream and the root beer are splendidly delicious.

So I did what any normal person addicted to a particular product would do – I began hoarding them. Seriously, I would go to the Superstition Market each week or so and buy every single solitary bottle of the diet root beer and the diet orange and cream in the refrigerated case. I try not to think about how much money I spent on my habit. But I will tell you the honest truth – I was not the only one doing so. Every time I went, I would have to wrestle a bottle or two from some other desperate senior citizen’s hand. Well, not really, but figuratively, yes. The only good thing is that it seems like most senior citizens covet the cream soda, and as far as I’m concerned, they can have every one of them because, well, cream soda.

The reason that I began hoarding Stewart’s diet sodas like a meth addict is because I was unable to find any place in Denver that sells Stewart’s sodas. Now, that doesn’t mean there isn’t any such place, but I can’t determine a source. So my thought was that since we would be driving home from Arizona in May, I would load up our trunk with clanging bottles of soda pop.

Stewarts hoardAnyhow, that’s exactly what I did. They have been sitting on a shelf in our garage since we got home. Little by little, I have opened a coveted bottle as a special treat. The diet root beers are delicious, but without a doubt, I prefer the orange and cream sodas. Because, orange and cream. You can read further about my orange and cream addiction in this post.

Now, before I go on, I will remind you that I would do almost anything for any one of my grandchildren. I make treats that they like. I have a constant supply of their cookie-of-choice – Oreos. I have M& Ms and A&W root beer and pink lemonade always at the ready.

Alastair and shrimp

Alastair’s displaying the shrimp he cooked by himself on the grill, delightfully flavored with a spicy Cajun seasoning. See what I mean?

But the day I saw Alastair take a cold orange and cream soda from the refrigerator, I was stunned. I hadn’t told him not to drink it so he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that I know my grandson Alastair. He likes good things. He likes good food and good drink and good fun. I can’t wait until he is old enough to prepare full meals for me, because he will be a splendid cook. So the handwriting was on the wall. I knew he was going to love the orange and cream soda, and he indeed did.

Again, I must remind you that what I said above is true – I would do almost anything for my grandchildren. Except share my orange and cream soda.

So, I went to the grocery store and bought a 12-pack of Sunkist orange soda, thinking I was brilliant to have thought of such a logical solution. I put it in my refrigerator so it would be nice and cold for his next visit.

And his next visit was this past Saturday. He was there for a while when I saw him open the drawer in my refrigerator where I keep my beverages. He closed the drawer. Then I heard him go into the garage. He emerged carrying a bottle of the orange and cream soda, garage temperature notwithstanding.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said, sounding only slightly hysterical. “Did you see that I got you some lovely Sunkist orange soda?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “But that isn’t nearly as good as this Stewart’s Orange and Cream soda. I’m going to chill this bottle so I can drink it.” And that’s what he did. He put it in the drawer. Every so often he would go check the temperature, like a soda pop sommelier. When it was exactly right, he opened the bottle, sniffed the beverage deeply, and took a long, cooling draw.

Sigh.

By the time Alastair stops by next, Bill will have successfully dug a root cellar which will be hidden by rocks in our back yard in which I will be secretly storing my Stewart’s diet orange and cream soda. In the meantime, can anyone tell me where I can buy it? It’s available from Amazon for fifty bucks for a 12-pack. Wait, what?

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: We Gather Together

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These past couple of days have been days of gathering for Bill and me. Thursday night, the men of the McLain family got together for a well-deserved Boys’ Night. Since my sisters and I frequently gather for Girls’ Night, I was darn happy they got such a great opportunity. And how better to gather than at a baseball game? And, better yet, the Rockies beat the Phillies 11-2. Alastair, Bill, Dave, and Allen had a great time…..

Bill Dave Alastair Allen 2016

And yesterday I had lunch with two of my closest buddies from the days when I worked hard for a living. Mark Gallegos and Dave Martinez and I try to get together at least a couple of times a year. While we used to talk about politics, now we talk about grandkids. Times, they are a changin’…..

Tres Amigos 2

Gatherings with family and friends will always make me smile.

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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Cutting Up
I mentioned recently that my niece and nephew gave me a $100 gift certificate to Amazon, and I couldn’t decide how to spend it. I got several suggestions, but went with my gut and bought myself two – count ‘em – new Wusthof knives. I have a 6-inch Wusthof chef’s knife that I have loved, but decided it was too short for some jobs. So I purchased an 8-inch Wusthof cook’s knife. I don’t know the difference between a cook’s knife and a chef’s knife, but I’m pretty sure I’m more of a cook than a chef. Anyhoo, I also bought a Wusthof paring knife. I find I am using my old Chicago Cutlery paring knife more and more often, so I decided to upgrade that as well…..

Wusthof knives

Green Tea
Every year at this time, the Linden tree blossoms burst into bloom and smell magnificent. Every time I get a whiff of the smell, I’m back in my grandmother’s house in Columbus. We had a Linden tree in our front yard, and when it would bloom, Grammie would come and collect the blossoms. She would lay them out on a large piece of plastic in her spare bedroom and let them dry. From these dry blossoms, she made a green tea. That tea was the only beverage she ever offered to us. The alternative was water. Which I chose. Jen said she liked the flavor. I didn’t, but I certainly like the smell of the blossoms….

Lindon blossoms

Killjoy
Every year on the 4th of July, my mother would tell us the same thing. It’s July 4th, your summer is half over. I HATED when she would say that. It made me so sad. So yesterday when I ran to Walmart to pick up a few things, I felt my mother’s presence as I walked past the Back to School section featuring all manner of school supplies. In my heart of hearts, I realize that school will begin in something like six weeks. Nevertheless, it makes me so sad to see the days get a bit shorter each passing day. But wait. Oh, that’s right. I have a house in AZ.

Fun in the Sun
Who needs a big swimming pool when you can splash in a pool in our back yard? The grandkids – even though they are now all mostly very good swimmers – love when I blow up the pool and fill it up with water. Like my mother, I fill it part-way up with cold water from the hose. I then begin trucking in bucket after bucket of hot water so that the water temperature is perfect. I can’t have my little precious ones be cold. As it is, after a good hour of play, Cole’s teeth were chattering and Kaiya’s toes were wrinkled. They always have some kind of fun….

addie kaiya cole pool 2016

Papa Day
Last Friday Bill and I went out to dinner with some friends. Addie called me in the afternoon and asked me what time we would be home. I told her we were going to a happy hour, so it probably wouldn’t be late. Why, I asked her. Well, it seems that she declared July 1 to be Papa Day in honor of her Papa Bill. And in his honor, she baked him a chocolate cake and wanted to surprise him with it after we got home. I assured her I would keep it a secret. The hard part was keeping him from ordering dessert, but I was successful. Shortly after we got home, Addie, her brother Alastair and her mom and dad all came over for Papa Day, which she now says will be an annual event. Mark it on your calendars. July 1 – Papa Day. They also brought fireworks that they had purchased in Wyoming, where fireworks are legal, which had been sitting in their garage for a couple of years. We set off some mildly exciting fireworks and firecrackers – nothing that would get us kicked out of the neighborhood, but fun nevertheless. I can’t wait for Papa Day 2017. Here is the delicious, if somewhat crooked, cake. Four layers, donchaknow…..

papa day cake (2)

Ciao.