Reluctant Traveler: D-Day Redux

In 2008, Bill and I spent three-and-a-half months traveling around Europe — Spain, Italy, France, Germany, and Austria. During our travels, I wrote a blog called The Reluctant Traveler in which I told of our daily adventures. It was, in fact, my first experience with blogging. In honor of Veterans’ Day, I am reprinting my blog post from August 3, 2008, on which date we were visiting Normandy and the sites of the D-Day invasion. Though it deals specifically with the World War II battle, it is meant as a tribute to all those men and women who have served our country in the Armed Forces. Thank you to one and all!

D-Day

Sunday, August 3, 2008

After spending the entire day yesterday looking at the various sites of the battles that were fought to liberate France, and eventually to win World War II, as we drove home I asked Bill how he felt. “Pretty proud to be American,” he answered. I knew exactly what he meant.

The day was kind of dreary, one of the few overcast days we’ve had during our entire adventure. It couldn’t quite make up its mind – it would drizzle, then the sun would peak out of clouds. It never quite rained. The weather suited the day, we felt. The weather was overcast too on June 6, 1944.

Traffic was awful. Everyone was on the autostrada getting away for holiday. What should have been an hour-and-a-half drive took us twice that long.

Since we only had a day, we decided to focus on the areas in which America had the impact. As such, we only saw the Canadian cemetery in the distance as we drove by, and the same was true for Sword, Juno, and Gold Beaches, where Great Britain and Canada soldiers came on shore.

Our first stop was just above the little French town of Arromanches, high on the cliffs above the Normandy beaches, where there was a 360 degree theater. The film shown on this circular screen was powerful. The film director intermixed current scenes from the little towns that line the Normandy coast with film taken on June 6, 1944, as our soldiers stormed the beach. There was no dialogue, and the only sounds you heard were the sounds heard by the soldiers as guns fired and planes flew overhead, or the sounds of a peaceful rural French life. The 1944 scenes were graphic, violent, poignant, and awe-inspiring while the current scenes were pretty and colorful and filled with joy. The contrast made a very strong point – the towns around the Normandy beaches owe their freedom from the Nazis to the United States of America and the other allies.

After viewing the film, we got back in our car to drive to the little French town of Longues-sur-Mer. Here we stopped in a small boulangerie and picked up two ham, Gruyere cheese, and tomato sandwiches smeared with good French butter, and two wonderful pastries for dessert. We then drove a few blocks towards the sea, to an area where there were four German bunkers with their guns still intact. These guns had the ability to shoot up to 13 miles. The clear shot the Germans had of the beach was absolutely bone-chilling.

We ate our lunch at one of the little picnic tables they had set up for that purpose. As we ate, we tried to figure out how the French bakers can get the baguette so perfectly crusty on the outside and so chewy and delicious on the inside. It’s a reality I will continue to ponder.

Our next stop was Omaha Beach, and the American cemetery. We walked through the museum, which gave a lot of information about the events leading up to the war, and even more interesting (at least to me), the events and discussions that went on during the days just prior to D-Day. While I could always imagine how much thought went into planning a battle such as that fought on June 6, I had never really realized that the Americans had tricked the Germans into thinking a bigger battle was going to be fought elsewhere. The Americans used false communications, fake airplanes, and other kinds of trickery that helped catch the Germans off guard and lulled them into thinking that, even as our soldiers were storming the beaches, this battle was not to be taken that seriously.

After visiting the museum, we walked down to the beach. I think of my entire day, this was what moved me the most. The beach area from where the water meets the shore to where the soldiers would have some trees or shrubs for protection was easily the length of two football fields. (And speaking of football, the next time I hear a sports announcer refer to a football player as a hero, I think I will put a rock through my television screen. Football players are not heroes. Twenty-year-old boys climbing off boats carrying hundreds of pounds on their backs, running to the shore, and then crawling on their bellies for 200 yards or more while getting shot at are heroes.)

After looking at the beach, we walked back up to the cemetery. Of course, the sight of all of these white marble crosses and stars of David is poignant beyond belief. Each marker has the name and rank of the soldier and the day he died. I always forget that the battles of Normandy went on not just for this one day, but for months. There are a number of markers that bear no name, but say only God knows who he is. Very sad.

 

We left the cemetery and drove a bit further up the coast to Pointe du Hoc Ranger Monument. We decided to stop here at the last moment, and I’m glad we did. Pointe du Hoc was an area where, early on June 6, 300 US Army Rangers climbed the cliffs of this heavily German-fortified position to secure it for the allies. They were successful, but only after losing over two-thirds of the soldiers. Out of the 300 Rangers, 95 survived. The area was heavily bombed and the huge holes where the bombs had dropped are amazing and a somber reminder of the power of those bombs.

craters

Our last stop of the day was in Ste Mere Eglise, the first town to be liberated by the American soldiers on June 7, 1944. This pretty little town is in the general area where the 101st and 82nd Airborne soldiers dropped early on June 6 to land behind enemy lines. If you saw the movie The Longest Day, you will recall that one soldier got caught on the church steeple and played dead for a number of hours while German soldiers took shots at him. As he hung helplessly, he watched the ensuing battle below. The people of this town, to this day, have American flags hanging and have a parachute with a dummy hanging on the steeple of the church in commemoration.

It had been a long and somber day, but one that made me very proud.

What’s There to Eat?

The other day my niece Maggie asked me if my grandkids were fussy eaters. She had heard me talk in the past about how Kaiya in particular has very specific tastes in food. Pizza and buttered noodles with parmesan cheese are about it. Well, and most things sweet. The rest of my grandkids have much broader palates. But they ALL like most things sweet!

Kaiya and Mylee enjoy a popsicle on their front porch.

Kaiya and Mylee enjoy a popsicle on their front porch.

I have always been told – and therefore believed – that if you cook with your kids or grandkids, they will develop a love of lots of different foods. I can assure you that this is not necessarily true. Kaiya loves to cook with me, but unless it’s something sweet, she will turn up her nose at the idea of eating the final result. Once she helped me make lasagna. Under my watchful eye, she carefully layered the tomato sauce, the meat, the noodles and the cheese. When we sat down to dinner, she wouldn’t even consider tasting it.

“Buttered noodles with cheese, please,” she will ask for every time.

It’s interesting watching kids develop their tastes in food. For example, while certainly not a fussy eater, 7-year-old Maggie Faith has a decided distaste for pizza. It’s about the only thing she will turn her nose up 100 percent of the time. Not Kaiya….

kaiya and huge slice

Dagny loves most kinds of meat, but will turn up her nose at fish or seafood of any sort. On the other hand, her brother Alastair, while certainly a meat eater, will choose fish or seafood every time if given the opportunity.

Joseph enjoyed a cinnamon donut during our visit to Vermont.

Joseph enjoyed a cinnamon donut during our visit to Vermont.

I think most of my grandkids eat some sort of sandwich for lunch. Even Kaiya will eat (or at least take a bite or two of) a Nutella sandwich. Mylee is the exception. Her lunch? Raw fish (sashimi) kept fresh in an ice pack in her lunch box. I’ll bet no one wants to trade for her lunch. I would, however.

I honestly don’t remember not liking anything my mom cooked. There were certainly no short orders taken or given. We ate what she cooked, as I think did most of my friends. It was a different time. There were things I liked less well – I could have lived a long time without a bite of pork roast – but most things were delicious.

A few weeks ago, Court and the kids came to our house to watch a Bronco game and then stay for dinner afterwards. As we watched the game, I shredded a mound of Swiss cheese to use in the macaroni and cheese that my grandmother used to make us. As I shredded the cheese, both Kaiya and Mylee kept coming up to me and stealing handfuls of the cheese. I didn’t blame them. We used to do the same thing when my mother would make Swiss Macs. In fact, she took to hiding the plate full of cheese in the cupboard so we couldn’t eat it all.

Dagny and her friend Brynn loved them a milkshake as we celebrated D's birthday.

Dagny and her friend Brynn loved them a milkshake as we celebrated D’s birthday.

Later that night, I offered them some of the prepared Swiss macs, and they both were aghast. Heavens no! Yuck.

“Seriously?” I asked them. “You love noodles and cheese, and this is the Swiss cheese you guys couldn’t stop eating earlier today.”

It didn’t matter because they were not going to even give it a try.

What did they have for dinner? Buttered noodles with parmesan cheese. Sigh.

Jingles

The other day I was making a gourmet lunch of hot dogs and Cheetos. Sure, some French person somewhere in Paris was eating a Croque Monsieur or Madame sandwich while sitting on a park bench outside of the Louvre, but I don’t envy him or her because I LOVE HOT DOGS.

There. I’ve said it. In fact, one of my favorite lunch treats is the buck fifty special at Costco that features a foot-long hot dog or polish sausage and a Diet Pepsi. A buck fifty. Considerably less expensive than your Croque Monsieur, monsieur!

Anyway, I had spent good money on the weenies. I don’t go for the generic brand. No Siree Bob. I put out good money to get all-beef Oscar Mayer weiners because that’s the kind that Bill used to eat at his favorite hot dog joint on the South Side of Chicago. (I know, but that is not a typo. His favorite hot dog place didn’t serve Vienna Beef hot diggities. It was Oscar Mayer all the way.)

All this is to say that our lunch fare got us to talking about advertising jingles through the years. And Oscar Mayer had two of the very best. C’mon Baby Boomers. You can sing them with me….

I wish I were an Oscar Mayer weiner
That is what I’d truly like to be-e-e
‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer weiner
Everyone would be in love with me.

That catchy tune aired in the mid-60s. It is not to be confused with the equally catchy

My bologna has a first name, It’s O-S-C-A-R
My bologna has a second name, it’s M-A-Y-E-R
Oh, I love to eat it every day
And if you ask me why, I’ll say
‘Cause Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A.

I am not ashamed to tell you that to this day I never ever misspell bologna. Of course I’ve probably only had to spell it out five times in my life and three of those five are in this blog post. Still….who couldn’t love this symbol of fine hot dog eating everywhere….

I took this photo of the Weinermobile outside of our neighborhood Walmart.

I took this photo of the Weinermobile outside of our neighborhood Walmart.

Another famous jingle that also featured hot dogs was offered by Armour Meats, also in the mid-60s.  Remember?

Hot dogs. Armour hot dogs.
What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks.
Tough kids, sissy kids even kids with chicken pox
love hot dogs, Armour hot dogs.
The dogs kids love to bite.

We must not have been too concerned with political correctness in the 60s. Maybe we were too worried about where all the flowers had gone. Because I can’t imagine a commercial today that would talk about fat kids during which they would feature a plump girl biting into a hot dog. And sissy kids? Wouldn’t happen.

But of course, catchy advertising jingles weren’t limited to hot dogs. Who can forget two-all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions-on-a-sesame-seed bun? Or hold the pickles hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us?

And after all of those hamburgers and hot dogs, you needed plop,plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is. And the next morning, once your stomach was settled, remember that the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup. But perhaps the one easiest to remember was this: Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, and so forth. Meow Mix cat food.

All this made me think about a movie I recently watched on Netflix called The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio, starring Julianne Moore. It was an interesting movie based on a true story of a woman who helped support her family of 10 kids by winning a variety of prizes – some monetary, some less helpful – for writing advertising jingles in the 1950s. Apparently companies used to hold contests to find the best jingles. I recommend the movie.

It makes me a bit sad that nowadays there are no jingles, only pop music as the background to commercials aimed at the 18-40 demographic. But just remember, when you say Bud, you’ve said it all.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Goblins and Whatnot

I know that Halloween was a whole week ago and we are now focused on Christmas (seemingly forgetting about Thanksgiving in between unless it has something to do with whether or not your favorite store is opened or closed).

12208303_10208354907058904_5560700100112718963_n

Nevertheless, seeing my grands dressed up for trick-or-treating is what made me smile this past week.

Here they are…..

Kaiya is Skelita Calaveris from Monster High.

Kaiya Skelita 2015

Mylee is Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Leonardo.

Mylee Leonardo 2015

Cole is Clark Kent in the process of becoming Superman (and eating Rolos).

Cole Clark Kent 2015

The McLains are a scary group. From left…Alastair is a so-called “bad guy” (his real costume included a hood and mask), Uncle Allen is Uncle Allen, Addie is a sunny-side up egg, Dagny is Carmen Miranda, Aunt Julie is the Queen of Hearts, and Maggie Faith is a spider-witch (wouldn’t want to meet one of those on a dark night).

Mclains halloween 2015

And in Vermont, Lauren is a witch, Joseph is Cilan from Pokemon, and Heather and Micah are construction workers, complete with a truck.

Hibbert McLains 2015

Lots of fun and lots of candy.

Have a good weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

Cutting Back
beebleberriesSince we arrived on Saturday, Bill has been busy getting this and that in order. He vowed to not undertake any projects that would take the entire just-over-two-weeks that we are going to be here, but man, that fellow has a hard time staying still. Thus far he has trimmed back lots of bushes (including that infernal acacia tree in our front yard about which I blogged). He has an ongoing battle with that particular tree, with the tree, I’m afraid, mostly coming out the victor. It’s pretty, but it goes from little yellow puffballs that eventually fall on the ground to little brown pods that eventually fall on the ground. Do you see a pattern here? And to top it off, the tree is covered with thorns, making for a difficult trim. But in addition to landscape maintenance, he has fixed a toilet as well as worked on our washing machine. In the meantime, as he works, I sit and read.

Pizza Pizza
It took nearly three full days, but Bill finally got his Oregano’s Pizza on Tuesday. It’s probably his second favorite pizza place, after Fox’s Pizza in Chicago. We drove to Chandler to visit Bec, and enjoyed a glass of wine and a cigar (well, Bill alone enjoyed the cigar) on her patio before we all went to her neighborhood Oregano’s. A big salad that we split three ways and a ginormous thin-crust with sausage and capicola. We didn’t eat it all, but I’m embarrassed by just how little we took home. Yum.

Speaking of Pizza….
I recently read an article that spoke on research being done linking carbs to dopamine production. As you may or may not know, Parkinson’s is the result of the brain’s decreased production of dopamine. According to the research, eating carbs results in an increase in dopamine (which is related to feelings of reward and pleasure). I don’t necessarily take articles about research results very seriously because I theorize that there is alleged research to support nearly any hypothesis. However, it certainly could have something to do with Bill’s love of pizza, no? He seriously could eat pizza for every meal, and nearly did when he was single.

Brrrrr
The so-called “cold front” about which the Arizona weather people fretted did, in fact, come through. The front resulted in highs yesterday of that hovered in the mid-60s. It rained intermittently, and whether or not you would be rained upon depended on where you were located. My sister Bec who lives in Chandler texted me in the morning to tell me she had been sitting on her patio enjoying her morning coffee when it started to rain. I looked outside only to see blue skies. The rain, however, did appear eventually. It was a nice change of pace. The windows were open and a cool breeze kept the house comfortable. I made a pot of ham and bean soup because it seemed appropriate. And, while I laugh at the excitement about weather conditions here in Arizona, I’m reminded that the entire state isn’t necessarily like here. In fact, they got snow in Flagstaff yesterday.

More Reluctant Traveler
One thing I didn’t mention in yesterday’s post about our off-interstate travels as we drove to Arizona is that on Saturday, rather than taking I-40, we got off in Grants, NM, and took a series of two-lane highways that eventually led us to Mesa. It was a tad bit slower, but very pretty. Part of our drive took us through the Malpais Indian Reservation….

malpais reservation

Ciao.

Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate, Hate

I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you’re around. – Carole King and James Taylor

searchBill and I returned to our home in Mesa, AZ, on Saturday night and are busily getting settled in for a couple of weeks, at which time we will return to Denver for the holidays.

Sunday night, during a break in the Broncos/Patriots game, I took the opportunity to take a quick shower. At some point, something happened. I wasn’t really concentrating, but I felt like the earth shook very briefly. It sort of passed through my mind that something weird just took place, like an earthquake? Nah. That thought went away and never returned. Because, well, we’re in Arizona, not California.

Yesterday morning I got a text message from my niece Maggie. Did you feel the earthquake? the text said. Suddenly it all came back to me. I immediately called her.

“Was there really an earthquake?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she assured me.

“What time?” I asked.

“Around 11:30 at night,” she replied.

Well, I was pretty sure I was sound asleep at 11:30 and wouldn’t have felt anything, or would have recalled it if I did. Still, I was pretty sure I had felt something earlier in the evening.

Later I discovered that there had actually been three small earthquakes – the one I apparently felt at 8:45ish, and another two somewhere between 11:30 and midnight. I wasn’t losing my mind. Well, arguably I am losing my mind, but at least not about feeling an earthquake.

I have never before felt the earth move under my feet; in fact, have only listened to the song by Carole King. Perhaps if you live somewhere in California, particularly near San Francisco, when you feel unexpected movement under your feet, you recognize right away that you are experiencing an earthquake. When you are from Colorado and you feel the earth move under your feet, you think you shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine or maybe you are getting too excited about the Broncos game.

Weather is a big deal here in Arizona. The earthquakes, though small (3.2, 4.0, and 4.1 – small enough to sound a bit like college GPAs) were the talk of the news people here in the Phoenix metro area, second only to Taylor Swift getting sued by someone for allegedly stealing the lyrics to Shake it Off. Here in Arizona, we don’t worry too much about a Russian plane crashing midair, at least not when Taylor Swift is being sued. Arizona has its priorities. She led the local NBC affiliate’s 5 o’clock news program. Sigh.

No matter, because both the earthquakes and Ms. Swift were quickly forgotten when the weather folks realized a cold front was heading this way. I promise you I’m not kidding when I tell you that the meteorologists are up in arms about the imminent cold weather. That’s the word they use – cold. It will be in the 60s. Remember, however, they are coming from a summer of 110 degree days. Sixty degrees feels cold. It’s all relative.

In the meantime, I am awaiting the aftershocks of the earthquake. It goes without mentioning that I am also bracing myself for the aftershocks of the Taylor Swift situation should the singer/songwriter be determined to be a lyrics thief.

The Importance of Being Important

O when the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in. – Author unknown, but song made famous by Louis Armstrong

There comes a point in everyone’s life – at least everyone over the age of 55 or 60 – when you start asking yourself, how did I get to be this age and just what have I accomplished in my life. For me, it hit quite early – somewhere in the neighborhood of 30. There were probably a lot of reasons for this, not the least of which was that I was going through profound marriage difficulties that ultimately resulted in divorce. Nothing makes you feel like a great success more than a divorce. I’m being sarcastic.

For others, it may be when you turn 40, or maybe 50. Here I am, you might say, 50 years old and I’m still not a millionaire. Or I still haven’t gotten my MBA. Or there is no Corvette in my garage. Or I don’t have a garage.

When you think about it, however, it’s all about how you measure success.

350px-All-Saints

The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs, a painting by Fra Angelico, 15th century.

Yesterday was November 1, and Catholics (and probably some other religions) celebrated All Saints Day. For Catholics, it’s a holy day of obligation, meaning we are supposed to attend Mass, no matter on what day of the week it falls. In a most unsaintly way, I am always glad when it falls on a Sunday, thereby killing two birds with one stone. Shame on me.  It’s probably likely there will never be the word “saint” before my name.

I don’t know if it was because it was All Saints Day or if it was in the regular church reading cycle, but yesterday’s gospel was from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount as told by St. Matthew.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus went on to say, “Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.

Jesus’ testimony to the crowd, and therefore to us, isn’t anything new. A few weeks ago he told his disciples that in order to get to heaven, we have to have the faith of children. This time he reminds us that people with simple faith and simple needs will be first in line to greet St. Peter.

Gospel readings such as this one remind me how complicated Christian people sometimes make our faith. We get caught up in political righteousness when it seems to me really all God expects of us is to have a simple and pure faith in him and kindness to others. Love God and love one another. I found our priest’s homily meaningful. He said that while we all measure success by how much money we have or how successful we are in our professional lives, or even how successful our children are, in reality the Beatitudes are Jesus’ blueprint for success. Boom.

It’s not complicated. And it wasn’t complicated for most of the saints. They modeled their lives after Jesus, and now we should model our lives after them.

I’ll try, as long as I don’t have to live off locusts and honey like St. John the Baptist.

ReinieBy the way, When the Saints Come Marching In was played at my father’s funeral, partially because he was a fan of Louis Armstrong, but mostly because he was one of those saints that marched right in!

Saturday Smile: She’s Counting the Days

A number of things made me smile this week.

Mylee 2015The night Kaiya and Mylee had their sleepover, they were in their pajamas and were playing while Bill and I watched a football game on television. Out of nowhere, Mylee said, “Nana, I get your chair when you’re dead.” Boom. Trust me; it’s not that great a chair so I hope she’s not counting on it any time soon.

The other day I got a text message from the husband of one of my best friends to give me some information. We don’t typically text; in fact, the message came to my cell phone displaying only a phone number so it took some detective work to figure out who it was from. By detective work, I mean a series of back and forth text messages to learn the texter’s identity. Anyway, the next morning I noticed I had another message from my friend’s husband, who, by the way, is a truck driver. It said I spent the night at the Walmart in Huron. Love you. Now, trust me when I tell you that I didn’t suspect a secret love had been professed. In fact, I knew exactly what had happened. I just didn’t quite know how to handle it. So I did nothing. Later that day, I got a third message from my friend’s husband.It said Sorry about the earlier text. Would you maybe tell my wife that I love her more.

Finally, a photo of Alastair as he prepared to play his first rugby game. Yikes. He’s 10! Thank goodness he has the mouthpiece at least.

Alastair rugby

Have a great weekend.

 

Thursday Thoughts

Arachnophobia
The other night when Kaiya and Mylee had their sleepover, we went out for pizza. While we waited for the pizza to be served, Kaiya had my cell phone and was googling images of various things, primarily insects. At one point she brought up an image of a black widow spider and asked me if I knew what it was. I impressed her heartily by being able to name the displayed critter. I suggested she google tarantula, which she did. She proclaimed that she thought the furry spider was cute and not a bit scary. “I’m not scared of spiders,” she proudly proclaimed. However, when I dropped them off at their house following our Children’s Museum adventure on Wednesday, there were a couple of daddy long legs on the side of the porch, minding their own business. Hysteria from both girls ensued. Such hysteria, in fact, that I was unable to convince them that spiders had a right to live outdoors, and it necessitated my stomping my foot on the side of the house to kill them (the spiders, not the girls). So much for no fear of spiders. While I heartily dislike most insects, spiders don’t particularly bother me. Well, unless they are of the black widow or tarantula variety.

Hello Rex
handsome rex
Since my computer updated its operating system to Windows 10 a while back, I have sort of stumbled around trying to figure out how to do the simplest things. The other night, Kaiya was fooling around a bit on my computer, and I wasn’t paying much attention. Wednesday afternoon when I turned on my computer, instead of finding the expected display background of a photo of my grandkids, there was a huge picture of Bill’s father when he somewhere in the neighborhood of 21 years old staring me in the face. It was one of the photos in the box of old pictures that we recently received, and I had scanned it and it lived somewhere on my computer. It was quite startling, and more so because I had no idea how to get rid of it and put something in its place. Like a picture of the grandkids. It took me a long time to make the change, but I am no longer greeted by a picture of Rex. Handsome as he was, it isn’t what I want to look at each day when I turn on my computer.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
The morning following Kaiya’s and Mylee’s sleepover (which was the same morning that I was awakened by Mylee at 4:45), I was rushing to get them dressed, teeth brushed, etc. at the same time that I was getting ready. We were headed to the Children’s Museum. Sometime during the getting-ready process, Bill mentioned that I had something white on my lip. I quickly forgot that he said anything. Later that day, following the morning at the museum and lunch at Panda Express, I happened to lick my lips. I tasted mint. Apparently I had been running around with a large glob of toothpaste on my lip the entire morning and into the afternoon. Perhaps it would behoove me to actually look in a mirror on occasion. Would it have killed Kaiya to point it out to me? She doesn’t miss anything else!

On the Road Again
We leave tomorrow for a fairly quick trip to Arizona. We usually go in October to open up the house. This year Jen beat us there, and whipped things into shape last week. But it will still be nice to see everyone and get somewhat settled in. We will fly back, leaving our car there so that we don’t have to drive on Christmas day when we will return to Arizona for our 4-month winter stay. My plan is to continue posting each day, but if you don’t hear from me, don’t worry – you will soon!

Ciao.

 

Sleepless Night

Mylee the PerpI’m embarrassed to tell you that the past 48 hours have been kind of a blur. No, I’m not embarrassed to tell you this for justifiable reasons such as I’ve been overcome by alcohol. No, the reason my life has been blurry is that two of my grandkids had a sleepover night before last and it took me 24 hours to recover.

For reasons I can’t exactly understand, Kaiya and Mylee love to sleep at our house. I don’t really get it. We do nothing exciting. But the doorbell rings and there are those two girls pulling their little Hello Kitty suitcases full of pajamas, stuffed animals, hair paraphernalia, and the like, with the happiest smiles on their faces. They run up to check out “their rooms” and make sure everything is the way it should be, and before I can say bibbity bobbity boo, one is busily preparing Play Doh food and the other is elbow deep in the Legos container. Life is good.

The biggest reason my life is a blur is that I am unable to sleep when they are guests in my house. I try, but one ear is always listening for a sound from one of the bedrooms. It rarely happens, but I’m ready if it does!

Yesterday morning at 4:45 a.m., heavy breathing awakened me from the sleep that has finally come. I open my eyes, and Mylee’s face is about six inches from mine.

“Nana, my tummy hurts and if I don’t drink some ginger ale right away, I will throw up,” she solemnly greets me.

Here’s the thing. I have emetophobia. It’s a thing, I promise. A phobia of vomiting, and I have it. I always have. God blessed me because my son Court only rarely threw up when he was growing up, and then he ALWAYS made it to the bathroom in time. I feel compelled to say that I have heard his stepmother talk about Court throwing up all the time, so I think it was simply a case of good luck and good planning. It’s okay though, because she doesn’t have emetophobia.

So I shot up like a rocket and headed her towards the bathroom.

“No Nana,” she said. “I just need some ginger ale.”

It’s 4:50 a.m., and there isn’t a ginger ale within a five mile radius. But by this time I had figured out that she wasn’t actually going to throw up (Court had warned me she had thrown up the night before), but that she had simply awakened early and wanted some ginger ale. And some company. She got company and a Coke Zero.

It is the girls’ Fall Break, so I took them to the Children’s Museum as a treat yesterday morning. Kaiya had a grand time. Mylee began pooping out about 11:30, because see above. A 4:50 a.m. rising time isn’t conducive to Children’s Museum fun-and-games. After lunching at Panda Express, I took chipper Kaiya and increasingly cranky Mylee home. A tired-looking mommy answered the door.

“Shhhh,” she said, holding her fingers to her lips. “Your baby brother just went down for his nap. He threw up all over me.”

Did I mention I have emetophobia? And now I know that Mylee throwing up the other night wasn’t just a random thing, but the beginning of an EPIDEMIC.

I have only gone through two cans of Lysol spray thus far. My house smells like a hospital ward.