Talking Loudly

searchThe other day Bill and I took one of our dreaded trips to the gym. I say dreaded because there is never a single time when I think, “Oh, yay! It’s Monday. I couldn’t possibly be more excited that we get to go work out! It’s so beneficial, and feels so good too.” Yep. Those words will never pass my lips. But we go because we need to, and because we know it is beneficial to our health. Oh yeah, and it also feels good. It feels good to have LA Fitness in the rear view mirror of our car, that is!

Anyway, we found two treadmills next to each other, set claim to them, and began to walk. Bill had on his headphones and immediately became deeply engrossed in the sports station he was watching. I read when I work out, and so I am unable to block out sound. However, if it’s a good book, I can lose myself in the story and I don’t pay attention to anything that’s going on around me.

That particular day, however, I couldn’t miss what was going on around me as I would have had to be dead (or deeply engrossed in a sports station with earphones blocking out all sound) to miss it. There was a young man, age 25-1/2 (you will soon see how I know his age) standing on the treadmill next to me, conducting business on his cell phone. He didn’t have the treadmill turned on; he was simply standing on it. And the business he was conducting was applying for a second mortgage on his home. Loudly. So loudly, I’m afraid, that I was able to overhear the entire transaction, though I tried really hard not to listen.

I know his date of birth (October 2, 1990). I know his credit score. I know he has taken out a few small loans in the recent past to do upgrades on his house and therefore was concerned about his credit score which is why I know what it is. It is 720. He was so thrilled with the score that he chose to say it out loud so that we all could know and rejoice. I know he is a computer analyst but has a secondary business he operates out of his home from which he earns $2000 a month.  (I was tempted to lean over to him and let him know that I missed out on what his earnings were for his regular job, but I resisted the urge.)

I tried to get away. I really did. In fact, after learning his credit score, I picked up my iPad and moved to a vacant treadmill a bit down the row. Though several treadmills away, it was not far enough to avoid hearing him apply for his loan.

And when he was finished, he turned on the treadmill, ran for a full 30 seconds, stepped off and left the building.

I was perturbed that my peaceful workout had been disrupted, it’s true. But honestly, more than that, I wanted to put my hands on either side of his youthful and naïve face and say, “Young man, do you understand that you just let the entire gym know your personal information?”

Having recently been in the hospital, I will tell you that there is only one piece of information that members of the medical field need in order to access ALL of your personal health data – your date of birth. Well, they probably need your name as well, and if I had gotten there a touch earlier, I would have that information too. As it was, I got in a few minutes late and so I don’t know his name. No matter what I’m trying to do when dealing with a doctor’s office or a hospital, all I need to tell them is my name and my date of birth and they will begin telling me whatever I want to know.

When I talk on my cell phone, I speak very loudly. I know this to be true because I hear myself. And because Bill tells me. For reasons I don’t understand, however, I can’t stop myself. But I can – and do – try to maintain privacy when on the telephone. I leave the room or go outside if I’m with other people.

The other day as I was waiting for Bill during his dental procedure, there was a woman on her cell phone talking to a friend. Talking loudly to a friend. So loudly, in fact, that people were leaving the small waiting room, tossing her dirty looks as they left. She was entirely unaware of the effect her conversation was having on the rest of the room, however, as she was telling her friend (and all of us) what she and her husband paid for their mobile home, all of their health problems, and their various vacation plans coming up.

Unlike the young man, she didn’t share any information that could have been used for nefarious purposes. Nevertheless, it made me wonder once again when we lost our sense of personal and private space. Sigh.

Pony Tail

hat with streamers (2)No matter what else you say about the Roman Catholic Church, you’ve got to give us cred for our rituals and our ceremonials. You also should give us a nod for our clerical attire.

Yesterday, for reasons still not quite clear to me, the celebrant for our Mass was the Bishop of the diocese of Gallop, New Mexico. As an aside, he told us that his diocese is the poorest Catholic diocese in the nation. Apparently the entire diocese consists of several Indian reservations, thereby reminding us once again just how badly we screwed the Indians several hundred years ago.

Anyhoo, because he is a bishop, he wore his mitre as he processed up to the altar, taking it off when he said the Mass, replacing it with his little red beanie (which undoubtedly has another name besides beanie). The mitre, of course, is the fancy hat bishops and cardinals wear that is pointed at the top and has two streamers down the back. All of that is probably symbolic of something, but I must have missed that lesson in Catholic school, concentrating instead on the stories of the horrific deaths of the martyrs as told to us by Sister Palaudia.

The sad news is that instead of concentrating on the words the bishop spoke, (if I had, I might know why he was the one celebrating our Mass) I was thinking about the hats I wore to church when I was a little girl. It was the bishop’s streamers that set my recollecting in motion.

Prior to Vatican II, of course, women (and little girls) had to have their heads covered chapel veil (2)when entering the church. Your head covering could range anywhere from a fancy hat to a Kleenex tissue held fast by a bobby pin. Most often, we wore what were called chapel veils. These were circles of lace that you bobby pinned to your hair, thereby saving you from the fires of hell. (By the way, your grandkids wouldn’t even know what you mean by “bobby pin.”)

But every Easter, my sisters and I, along with every single solitary girl that attended St. Bonaventure Church in Columbus, got a new Easter bonnet. With all the frills upon it. I’m not sure where my mother bought our hats. Maybe Schweiser’s (the one and only department store in Columbus). Maybe we took one of our infrequent trips to Omaha which was 65 miles from Columbus, but might as well have been three states away considering how infrequently we drove there. The hat was part of an entire ensemble. We always, always got new duds for Easter.

Up until about the fourth grade, my mother had my hair cut in what was called a pixie. The person who cut my hair (her name was Fay, and I’m pretty sure she hated kids) would use a dull razor to cut my hair, pulling it until my eyes filled with tears. She would then cut my bangs so that they were about an inch long, making sure that they weren’t straight. I’m serious. You couldn’t accidentally cut crooked bangs Every Single Time.

My best friend had long hair, and oh, how I wanted long hair. I would plead with my mother all the way to Fay’s salon (where she was preparing for the appointment by banging the razor against a rock, ensuring the necessary dullness). Please let me grow my hair long. Please. Please. Please.

It was, of course, futile to argue with my mother.

hat with streamers (1)So when it came down to selecting my hat for Easter Sunday Mass, I didn’t care about the color or the style. I only cared about one thing. The hat had to have the streamers down the back.

Why did my hat need streamers? So that when I was wearing it, I could toss my head back and forth, letting the streamers fall over my shoulder, creating the illusion of having a ponytail.

That, my friends is a true story.

I wonder if the bishop of the diocese of Gallop, New Mexico, tosses his head while wearing his mitre.

This post linked to the GRAND Social 

Saturday Smile: Nerd

imagesI know, I know. I promised I would stop posting Broncos stuff. Well, I take it back, and I’m not going to make that promise again. Because stuff keeps showing up and it makes me happy. So there. And besides, this isn’t really about football as much as it’s about friendship and family, and, well, being a nerd.

This link came from another blogger (who’s not from Colorado), and honestly, I could read it a million times. Von Miller — he’s my favorite Bronco, bar none. To those of you who only know him from seeing him make NFL quarterbacks look like Peewee Football quarterbacks on television, this might come as a surprise. Not to his loyal fans…..

Read this article, even if you’re not a Bronco’s fan.

http://www.theplayerstribune.com/von-miller-broncos-super-bowl-mvp-nerd/

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

They Like Me; They Really Like Me
I complain a fair amount about social media. It’s true I am wholly uninterested in reading about anybody’s political beliefs, no matter their party. I’ve gotten friend requests from people I’ve never heard of, but I simply ignore them, so no harm, no foul. Sorry if it’s from someone I should know, but I’m 62 years old and while I can remember my best friend’s phone number from nearly 50 years ago, I can’t remember the name of the people I met yesterday. But here’s something I DO like about social media. In the past few months, I have connected up via Facebook with some old friends from high school. They don’t post much, nor do I (except for my daily blog post), but I hear from some of them once in a while either on Facebook or my blog, and I simply LOVE that. After my post yesterday, one of those long-lost friends posted a comment in which he provided a tip that he thought might help me with my health issues. It seriously made me tear up. How nice to have friends from that long ago who care enough to take time to comment on my silly blog. Thanks to all of you who are paying attention to me still after all these years!

Hungry
After no food the day before and a process through which I cleared my digestive system fully in preparation for yesterday’s procedure, I woke up yesterday morning feeling tired and cranky. Even Bill noticed the difference. He’s used to the cranky part, but I’m generally well-rested. I told him I wasn’t quite sure what to expect following the appointment. But the good news is once the procedure was completed, I was given the go ahead to eat anything I wanted. We drove quickly to our favorite little breakfast spot – a family-owned café called The Little Kitchen — and got in under the gun for breakfast. Because I was breaking the fast. Get it?  I’m not sure when I’ve had a meal that tasted so good to me. I was unable to take anything by mouth yesterday morning prior to the procedure (which meant no food, no water, and NO COFFEE!). After breakfast, and three cups of coffee, I was a new woman. Well, not new, really, but the old woman that Bill is used to. Here’s proof that I enjoyed the breakfast….

Breakfast after fast 2.16

Would You Like to Buy Some Girl Scout Cookies?
That is how I’m greeted coming out of nearly every store I visit these days. The girls are always so adorable, but I am forced to explain to them that I have two granddaughters who are Girl Scouts, and if I bought my cookies from someone other than them, there would be hell to pay. As it is, I purchased five boxes of Girl Scout cookies from Kaiya and five boxes of Girl Scout cookies from Maggie Faith. Both girls either Face Timed me or telephoned me and gave me their pitch. Thanks to both mommies who took the time to send them to me. Now I am faced with the problem of having given up sweets for Lent. But never fear, they are being safely stored in the freezer until Easter Sunday when the Lord will rise and I can eat Girl Scout cookies. Well, except for the Thin Mints, which Bill has slowly and secretly devoured. No problem, because they are my least favorite. But has anyone tried the new Savanna Smiles? They are like crack, I’m telling you. I had a couple before Ash Wednesday, and they are irresistible. The good news? Bill wouldn’t touch a lemon cookie with a 10-foot pole, so they are all mine, mine, mine. After Easter, that is. A peek at my freezer….

Girl Scout cookies

Speaking of Easter…..
I made a darling crocheted Easter basket that I am selling in my Etsy shop for a mere $15. Here are a couple of photos….

Bunny easter basket

austin easter basket (2)

Remember to stop by my shop when you have a chance. It’s called Nanas Whimsies Shop (no apostrophe, which offends my writer’s sensibility, but I’m not King of Etsy), and here’s the link.

Ciao!

Hungry

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Clear liquid diet

I spent yesterday fasting. Not for religious reasons, I’m afraid. Nor am I doing a cleansing or starting an unpleasant sort of diet to lose weight.

I fasted because of a medical procedure being done today. While the procedure is nothing serious, it requires that there not be one single solitary thing in my digestive system. And there really is only one way to make that happen, and that’s all I’ll say about that.

Not eating isn’t anything new to me, what with my stomach issues and all. Every time I go into the hospital, I start a regiment of no food or liquid by mouth. In fact, when I was in the hospital for that whole month in February of 2011, for most of the time I was NPO, which stands for nil per os, Latin for damn, I’m hungry.

When fasting in the hospital, they give me all of my necessary nutrients via the IV, of course. That time, however, because of the extended length of time, they had to start giving me all sorts of unexpected things. The oddest was what they referred to as lipids, but what looked to this nonmedical civilian as bacon fat, pure and simple. And frankly, it might have been.  Apparently humans can’t be healthy without some fat.

The thing is, when I’m in the hospital, not eating doesn’t really bother me that much. I think that’s true for a couple of reasons, the primary being that I’m on so much pain medication that really nothing bothers me too much. They could bring in a Weber and begin grilling steaks in front of me and I would be nodding off. The other thing is that when I’m in the hospital, it’s because I simply don’t feel well, and so eating is not top of mind. During the aforementioned month in the hospital, Bill would come in (with my permission) with entire pizza pies that he would eat in front of me. The nurses used to give him a hard time, but the reality is that I wasn’t one bit hungry, though it had been weeks since I’d had a bite to eat.

Having said that, I will tell you that seeings as I feel perfectly fine, thank you very much, I was hungry yesterday. And you know how when you’re on a diet, you crave anything that has calories? When I’m on a diet, a carrot stick is wholly uninteresting, but I would eat a cardboard box if I knew it was full of calories and bad for me. Well, yesterday I couldn’t think about anything but food. That was it. Food. And this is a true story. Around 11 o’clock in the morning, I was trying to change out some cushions on our outdoor furniture, and I kept thinking about how weak I felt. I didn’t think I would have the strength to complete the job. I wasn’t sure I had the will to live. Please understand that I never even eat lunch before noon, and on a good day I might have a piece of peanut butter on toast for breakfast. Apparently that tablespoon of peanut butter on a single piece of toast gives me the strength of Hercules.

Talk about my mind playing games with me. Oy vey.

At any rate, my diet yesterday consisted of a glass or two of water every hour so that I would not pass out from dehydration, a couple of cups of chicken bouillon, and four or five little containers of jello. I will confess to you all that for my purposes yesterday, I considered my one gin-and-tonic at 5:30 to be a clear liquid. It’s liquid. It’s clear. I went without the lime. I wasn’t on any pain medication. Boom. Don’t tell my doctor.

With any luck, next time I see the doctor, he will have a better idea of how to keep me out of the hospital by looking at my test results, and my fast will have had a purpose.

It Was a Zoo Out There

Last time Jen was here visiting, she and Maggie took Austin and Lilly to the zoo. From that day on, Jen has been telling me that I absolutely MUST go to the zoo with Lilliana Marie Eve. She takes after our side of the family. She loves her some zoo.

Bill and I are members of two zoos – the Denver Zoo and the Phoenix Zoo. Both of my memberships are well used. I’ve been taking Kaiya and Mylee to the zoo since they were both very little. I haven’t had the chance to take Cole yet, because, well, Volkswagen Bug. No room for three in the back seat. Somehow I’m determined to make it happen this summer when we are back in Denver. The last time I Face Timed with Kaiya, she told me she is learning about animals at school. At that point she had learned about pandas and tigers.

“Tell me something about tigers,” I said.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Well, their paws are very padded so that they can sneak up on the animals they eat,” she finally declared.

Well, there you go. It will be fun to take her to the zoo and have her tell me about the animals. I assure you, I will learn a lot.

Yesterday, Jen’s final day for this visit, we went to the zoo. Bec joined us, and we had a grand time. Austin scored big as he got permission to play hooky from school. Well, preschool. I don’t think he will have to face a truant officer.

Jen is right about Lilly. She can hardly stand still as she sees the animals. As for Austin, he considered it more of a rolling snack cart as Maggie pulled him in the wagon and he ate pretzels and fruit snacks and goldfish crackers and drank red Gatorade until his lips turned red. He could be persuaded to get out of the cart for particularly interesting animals like orangutans, but it wasn’t until the carousel that he really perked up.

Lilly wanted to ride a giraffe on the carousel and Austin wanted to ride a shark. As it turned out, Lilly rode a leopard and Austin rode an alligator, but it was all good. And like a good daughter, Lilly waved at her mommy every single time her leopard passed by. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be a beauty pageant contestant. Or the pope.

It was a splendid day that ended with homemade pancakes for lunch. What could be better?

Here are some photos of our day….

Lilly and Austin can't take their eyes off one of the animals.

Lilly and Austin can’t take their eyes off one of the animals.

And here's what caught their eye -- a vulcher is standing as still as a statue with its wings spread wide...

And here’s what caught their eye — a vulcher is standing as still as a statue with its wings spread wide…

Lilly and Aunt Bec check out the African savannah.

Lilly and Aunt Bec check out the African savannah.

We had us some carousel!

We had us some carousel!

Abraham

Dad died in November of 2010. All of his grandkids and some of his great grandkids attended his funeral. It so happened that four of his grandkids had babies not too long before he died, bringing the total number of great grands at that time to 10. I remember four mommies standing in the back of the church bouncing Asher, Austin, Mylee, and Jenna, to keep them from crying. I could imagine my mother in heaven smiling.

We were happy as we all learned of the upcoming births earlier that year. But what I really recall about that joyous news was that Jen told our father, “Dad, you’re like Abraham. You have descendants like the stars in heaven.”

She, of course, was referring to the Book of Genesis when God told Abram, “Look up at the sky and count the stars, if you can. Just so shall your descendants be.”

Now there are a total of 14 great grandkids, ranging in age from 1 to almost 11. So between those 14 great grands and his four kids and nine grandkids, he really was like Abraham. And we are all like the stars in his heaven.

I’ve mentioned before that it makes me sad to think that my mother didn’t get a chance to meet any of her great grands. She would have loved them all. Dad certainly did, and enjoyed being around them until he was too sick to enjoy very much. I have a vivid memory, however, of bringing my granddaughter Kaiya to visit him when she was just a baby. As an infant, Kaiya didn’t much like being with people she didn’t know well. But that day she sat on Dad’s lap and he spoke quietly to her saying words that I couldn’t hear, and she didn’t make a peep. She just stared intently into his face. It was like she understood every word he was saying. That’s a great memory.

Yesterday afternoon, Jen and Bill and I hosted a gathering of family in honor of Jen’s visit. I’m happy to say that just like Field of Dreams, when it comes to family gatherings, if we build it they will come. With a few exceptions, the family poured into our little house in Mesa and gathered! Food, laughter, Coronas and bloody marys, NASCAR, carne asada, guacamole, Maggie’s green chile, Christopher’s smoked pork butt – we had it all.

And as she often does, Jen had a great idea. Let’s commemorate the great grands in a visible way, she said.

So the cousins who were present all used their individual artistic ability to design their own tile. The ones who weren’t able to be there will get their chance as well. When all are completed, we will bake them to make the design permanent, and display them in some manner.

We managed to get the kids to sit still long enough to take this photo. Painfully shy Jenna is trying to hide in the back row, and her sister Lexi, newly out of the hospital where she spent almost a week because of an infection that wouldn’t budge, is crying heartily, none too happy to be away from her mommy for too long.

But you know, the photo shows Mom and Dad were, indeed, like Abraham, and their descendants are like the stars in heaven.

great nieces nephews 2.2016

Left to right: Noah, Jenna, Lexi, Austin, Kelsie, Grace, Faith, Asher, Lilly. Not present are Mackenzie, Carter, Kaiya, Mylee, and Cole.

This post linked to the GRAND Social 

Saturday Smile: When Dinos Walked the Earth

There is a time in almost everyone’s life — somewhere around the age of 3 or 4, when they get fascinated by dinosaurs. Let’s face it. Dinosaurs are an amazing phenomenon that simply tickles our fancy. Frankly I’m still fascinated.

So when our grandson Joseph (now 6-1/2, and don’t ask me how THAT ever happened) was in the age group, he loved dinosaurs, as he still does, I think. Anyway, because of his love of these ancient creatures, when it came time to select his pajamas for Christmas, I chose pjs featuring a T-Rex.

Earlier this week, I got a text and photo from Heather telling us that 3 year old Micah has graduated into Joseph’s dinosaur pjs, and apparently wears them gladly and proudly. She sent this photo….

Micah dinosaur pjs

Since both boys have been sick, it made me purely happy to see Micah’s big smile.

Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: The Nightingale

imgresWhen a reader picks up a book about World War II, you pretty much know that it’s going to be difficult reading. Sometimes I wonder why we read such stories when they are so hard to comprehend and so utterly impossible to imagine. I guess the answer is that we read them so that we never forget what must be considered one of the most horrific periods in history.

So I knew when I picked up The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah that it wouldn’t be a light and breezy read. But it offered (and delivered) a look at the war from a new perspective – not the Jews who were persecuted and killed in or barely survived concentration camps but the rest of the European population who suffered immensely as a result of the Nazi regime.

What’s more, The Nightingale also offered a look at the war from the women’s perspective. Not nurses or others who participated directly in the war effort but those who were left behind to try and keep the world turning and their families safe.

Vianne and Isabelle are sisters who live in the Loire region of France. They haven’t had an easy time of it because their mother died shortly after their father returned from serving in WWI. The war changed him forever and he turned his back on his daughters.

The two took different paths in life – Vianne falling in love, marrying and having a daughter; Isabelle not able to find peace at one boarding school after another. When the Nazis invade France, both women experience the war in very different – but equally important – ways.

Hannah’s descriptions of the lives of the two women is vivid and graphic – and horrifying. The book took me by storm. I couldn’t put it down, but I found it hard to bear as I read.

The book is told from three perspectives – Isabelle’s (who becomes a resistance fighter), and Vivianne (who nearly loses everything trying to keep her family (and others) alive. The third perspective is contemporary and the reader isn’t sure whether it’s Vianne or Isabelle who is narrating that perspective.

I can’t recommend this book enough. It is a story I will long remember.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

Rigatony's Tempe

Rigatony’s Restaurant

You Can’t Have Too Much Eye-Talian
Despite how it may seem, Bill and I rarely get to the Phoenix suburb of Tempe. And yet, two days in a row we have been there. As you will recall, the other day we went on a field trip to Portillo’s and did a couple of other errands. Yesterday we went to IKEA, the only one of which is in Tempe. A Facebook friend, taking note of our trip to Portillo’s, suggested we go to a restaurant called Rigatony’s if we are ever in the area where it is located. (The restaurant’s name, by the way, is correctly spelled, a clever take on the proprietor’s name, I assume.) I looked up the restaurant and lo, and behold, it was only a couple of miles from IKEA. We went and were extremely delighted that it was a wonderful family-style Italian restaurant with delicious food. We were very surprised, however, to see that it was also very busy, even at 12:30 in the afternoon on a Wednesday. A half hour wait. Well worth it. I love nice surprises, especially when they have to do with food.

Schmorganborgan
The days tick by and it gets closer and closer to the time at which Jen moves to AZ for good (date yet unknown). Every so often, Bill and I begin to get nervous about where everything will go when the already-full house needs to absorb another person with her own stuff. While a trip to IKEA can’t entirely solve the problem, organization can’t hurt. So we bought a couple of different things yesterday that will hold some of our stuff, thereby making more room in the den and getting things off of our bedroom floor. I am the poster child for “if you have a free space, stuff will be put there,” but I am determined to go through our things, figure out what we really need, and then figure out where to store it. What we don’t really need will go to Goodwill. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure, so they say. A walk through IKEA is good for my soul. It puts steps on my Fitbit, and I get a chance to see some of the Swedish names for their furniture. It makes me feel like the Swedish chef on The Muppets.

Make Yourself at Home
Speaking of Jen, she arrived yesterday afternoon to spend a few days with her grands – oh, and her daughter and siblings too. Bill loves to torture her by greeting her with something along the lines of “Hi Jen, welcome to Arizona. Make yourself at home.” Given that she pays half the mortgage, she is oh-so-amused by his greeting.

Aarf
I recorded, and then sat and watched, the 140th Westminster Dog Show, something I

Court poses with our Miniature Schnauzer (who wouldn't win a dog show) Fritz.

Court poses with our Miniature Schnauzer (who wouldn’t win a dog show) Fritz.

try to do each year if I can remember that it falls sometime around Valentine’s Day. I like to see all of the different dogs, though I root for my favorite – the Miniature Schnauzer. This year the little bearded Schnauzer actually made it as one of the runners up in the Terrier group. Recording the program is a must so that you can fast forward through all of the interviews (with the owners, not the dogs) and all of the stories about how the dogs are groomed (why, oh why, do they make some of the dogs look so ridiculous).  One of my favorite moments was when one of the dogs – I don’t remember which, though it was a larger dog – decided fame wasn’t quite as important as those goodies that were in his handler’s pocket and turned naughty and just kept jumping and biting the pocket instead of walking quietly next to the handler. As you might expect, he was not selected as Best in Show. Instead, it was the German Shorthaired Pointer, who beat out others who were more favored.

Ciao.