Category Archives: Whimsies

Second Easter

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The Holy Spirit, as depicted by Brother Mickey Mcgrath, a Roman Catholic brother and accomplished artist. Many of his works feature the Holy Spirit.

The Holy Spirit, as depicted by Brother Mickey Mcgrath

Back in 2008 (I simply cannot believe it was seven years ago), Bill and I took the trip of a lifetime. We spent three-and-a-half months traveling around much of western Europe, including spending one full month living in an old rectory in Tuscany. Simply lovely.

We took a cruise ship from Galveston, Texas, to Barcelona, where we set off late in April on our adventure. We spent three or four days in Barcelona. Because it was our first stop, we were still quite inexperienced travelers. I can’t tell you exactly why, but we really never got the hang of Spain, though we certainly love Barcelona, especially La Sagrada Familia, the magnificent church designed by Gaudi that has been under construction since 1882. Not speaking any Spanish was definitely a hindrance, but we couldn’t speak French or German, and only enough Italian to get by, and that didn’t seem to cause us problems. In looking back, I think it was just the initial intimidation of being in a foreign country.

Anyway, every Sunday throughout our adventure we would attend Mass at the big cathedral of whatever country we happened to be visiting. We, of course, couldn’t understand a word, but since one of the many benefits of being Catholic is that the Mass itself is the same because it’s a universal church. So we were always able to follow along even if we couldn’t respond to the proclamations. In Barcelona, we attended the Barcelona Cathedral. The only thing I remember is that it was Pentecost Sunday and after Mass there were all sorts of activities going on in the square in front of the church, including traditional dancing and a puppet show.

We stayed in a truly dreadful apartment in the gothic section of Barcelona. The walls were thin and the floor was literally sinking. I prayed that it wouldn’t completely collapse before our visit was over. It was, I’m happy to tell you, the only really bad accommodation we had during our entire trip. Anyway, seeings as the walls were so thin, we could hear everything that went on above and below us. That Sunday night, I was awake all night long listening to partying going on outside our window. That was bad enough, but I also had the misfortune of hearing what I’m quite certain was an abusive man fighting with his wife/partner. It was very disturbing. I kept thinking, “Don’t these people have to get up and go to work tomorrow?”

The next day – Monday – Bill and I were up and out of the apartment early to begin our walking tour of the city. We noticed it was very quiet, but attributed that to it being so early. We couldn’t find a single place to eat breakfast. Nothing was open. We finally went back to our apartment, thinking we would go out later when things were lively.

Early afternoon, we set out again. But still, nothing was open. We, being so very clueless, decided that things were closed because it was siesta time, and were certain businesses would open soon. But after seeing no activity after a few hours, we finally decided we were missing something. So we stopped at a tourist booth on Las Ramblas and asked (using much sign language as the booth attendant didn’t speak much English) why nothing was open. We finally realized that it was some sort of national holiday. Again, using sign language and my language book, I asked what holiday they were celebrating. The woman asked her coworker how you would say the name of the holiday in English. The answer: Second Easter.

Second Easter?

After thanking her, we set off, and suddenly the answer occurred to me. I quickly took my Rick Steves guidebook out of my daypack and looked it up. Sure enough, Pentecost is a national holiday – celebrated on Monday – in Spain.

This is a long story before I finally can get to my point. I love the feast of Pentecost. In the Catholic Church, the tradition is to wear red, something I NEVER remember to do. The priests and deacons wear beautiful red vestments and the altar servers wear red belts with their white robes.

But beyond the pretty colors, I love the idea of celebrating the existence of the Holy Spirit who I believe guides us in our faith. He certainly guided Peter and the other apostles, who received strength from the divine spirit on the feast of Pentecost, shortly after Jesus ascended into heaven. It’s true, the Holy Spirit is an enigma, hard to understand in a way that God and his son Jesus are not. But it is through the Holy Spirit that we truly experience our faith.

The feast of Pentecost is important enough to warrant a holiday, at least in Spain!

Nana’s Notes: The artwork in the picture above is by Brother Mickey Mcgrath, a Roman Catholic brother and an accomplished artist. Many of his works feature the Holy Spirit in some form or another. His website is http://bromickeymcgrath.com/

In Memory…..

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Ft. Logan flagsAs we do every year when we’re in town for Memorial Day, Bill and I drove out to Fort Logan National Cemetery on Saturday to leave flowers at the gravestone of my mom and dad. I always try to go on Saturday or Sunday as opposed to Memorial Day Monday, because there is some sort of ceremony on Monday that draws throngs. I’m sure the ceremony is lovely, but I simply don’t feel the need to attend.

Apparently, in the past, if we’ve gone on Saturday, it’s been later in the day. This past Saturday we went quite early in the morning – not even yet 9 o’clock – because I had a packed schedule both Saturday and Sunday. We were surprised to find that there was a multitude of cars lining the narrow road that runs through the cemetery. Lo, and behold, the Boy Scouts were out putting the flags by the gravestones. And they apparently all brought their friends and relatives, because the area was packed. It’s ok, however, because when each gravestone is marked by an American flag, it’s quite lovely and a wonderful tribute to each of those men and women (and their spouses) who served our country in the Armed Forces. It’s actually breathtaking.

We were lucky, because the rain that had fallen all night long was finished, and the sun actually came out for a bit. My parents are buriedDad grave in a national cemetery, so one must be on the ball in order to find the grave as they all look alike. I have a system. I drive until I see a certain stand of evergreen trees. I then search for the grave of a Mr. Henry C. Fisher, a man I never knew but whose grave is at the end of the row in which Mom and Dad’s grave is located. Please God, I hope Mr. Fisher’s family never sees fit to move the grave or I will never find my parents’ stone again.

Fort Logan is likely where Bill and I will be buried as Bill is a veteran who served in the Army in the 1960s. While I love the old cemeteries with the big trees and the massive headstones and statuary, I never regret that my parents are at Fort Logan or that we will be there at some point. The national cemeteries are so pretty and so well-tended. I do regret that I Mom's gravecan’t plant a peony bush like I could at a regular cemetery, but the fact that I never have to wonder if their grave is well-tended makes it worth it.

In my blog post last year, I talked about going to the cemetery every year in Columbus with my mom to leave flowers on the graves of her loved ones. It’s really why I go to Fort Logan every year. I know that Mom and Dad are not there, but I know wherever they are, they appreciate that I honor them in this way each year just as they did with their ancestors. I always laugh because many people bring out artificial flowers to leave by the graves, and I totally understand why. I’m well aware that the kris flowers ft loganflowers I leave will likely be dead in just a few days. Nevertheless, I know my mother would haunt me if I left her artificial flowers. In fact, one year, shortly after she died, Bill made a beautiful wreath using artificial flowers in patriotic colors that we left there, and it weighed heavy on my heart for a long time. Sorry Mom.

I hope you all enjoyed (and continue to enjoy) the Memorial Day holiday, which unofficially kicks off summer (and hopefully signals an eventual end to constant rainfall on Colorado’s front range). I’m glad we have such a beautiful and solemn occasion to start off the summer.

Saturday Smile: Singin’ in the Rain

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I know you are going to think this is just another in my long line of complaints about our wet weather here on the front range of Colorado. Though it does seem as though the rain will never end, I assure you I am coming to grips with gray skies. Well, at least I’m working on it.

No, what I’m going to tell you about is a dance performance I watched this past week featuring 8-year-old Dagny and just-turned-7-year old Magnolia. The concert featured several numbers, all of which were simply adorable. My favorite, however, was a dance to Singin’ in the Rain. The dance was enhanced by umbrellas carried by each of the girls and used as part of the choreography. It simply couldn’t have been cuter.

Dagny singing in the rain

Dagny (on the right) is ready to dance across the floor with her umbrella.

 

Maggie is singin' and dancin' in the rain.

Maggie (on the right) is singin’ and dancin’ in the rain.

For good measure, they also danced to The Theme to the Pink Panther and another song which I can’t remember because it wasn’t familiar, but with a slumber party theme. Too, too cute.

I’m glad we were able to attend, because apparently this is the end of their career, as both of the girls are choosing to be finished with dance.

Have a great Memorial Day weekend, and let’s remember what the holiday is really about.

Thursday Thoughts

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Belly Aching
I’ve been out of the hospital now for about a month-and-a-half. I’m feeling great; no problems with my stomach at all, thanks be to God. However, now comes the time when I have to deal with my hospital bills that are trickling in. Paying them is awful, but I think that reconciling them to the insurance claims is almost as bad. Bill is helping me, for which I’m very grateful. Two brains are better than one.  I don’t know how elderly folks who live alone manage. Having said that, I am very grateful to have insurance to provide the confusing claims!

bird feeder squirrel

This squirrel thief is dining on the seeds the birds accidentally drop.

Chirp
One of the first things I did upon returning to Denver was to fill up my bird feeder in the back yard (between rain showers). We offer our feathered friends black oil sunflower seeds, which small birds such as house finches and chickadees find yummy. Apparently squirrels also find them yummy, because I have already had to chase off a couple of squirrels who have managed to figure out how to shimmy up the skinny little wrought iron pole to reach the feeder. I’m going to suggest to them that they try out for America’s Got Talent. I don’t know why it bothers me so much that they eat the seeds, but squirrels seem to bring out the worst in me. After chasing off the most recent squirrel, I got out my Pam and sprayed the pole and the top of the feeder. Now I will just sit back and wait to see the squirrel sliding down the pole and I will laugh hysterically. Squirrel hater, that’s me.

Reality Television
And speaking of America’s Got Talent (which is ready to start up very soon), three of the talent programs we watch have wrapped up, and they all finished the way I’d hoped, or nearly so. Nick Fradiani took the prize on American Idol, and I liked him after losing interest in Clark Beckham (who went from being my favorite to getting on my last nerve). I like Nick’s smile, and he seems like such a nice man who loves his mommy and daddy. Rumer Willis definitely deserved to win Dancing With the Stars, though the few times I voted, it was for Riker Lynch, who I thought was just adorable. He came in second. I was also happy with Sawyer Fredericks winning The Voice, though again, I always voted for Meghan Linsey, who came in second. How adorable was it that when the top four were given a car, 16-year-old Sawyer admitted he didn’t even have his drivers’ license yet? I want to pinch his cheek. Actually, what I want to do is cut his hair and donate it to Locks of Love.  Still, the young man can sing! Maybe if he cut his hair he would be similar to Samson and lose his singing strength.

Sentimental Journey (Call the Midwife spoiler alert)
I’ve mentioned before that I’m a fan of PBS’s Call the Midwife. Big fan. Huge fan. Sunday was the season finale, at least until they run their annual Christmas special at the end of this year. I think it’s safe to say that I pretty much cried from the beginning until the end of the program. I was very glad that Bill wasn’t home, because 1) I would hate to have to try and make him understand all of the reasons I was crying since it would take oh-so-much explanation (thalidomide? Trixie’s alcoholic father? Amnesia? sign language?; and 2) he hates even being in the house while I’m watching the show because of all of the screaming during childbirth. But seriously, could it have been any sadder? How can I wait until next year to find out what happens to my favorite midwives? And please, please, give Chummy a bigger role next season.

Let the Growing Begin
Literally between rain showers yesterday, I managed to get the remainder of my plants into the ground. I have now added chives and basil to the herbs that I will be able to enjoy this summer on the off chance that it ever stops raining long enough for the plants to get some sunshine in order to grow. I still intend to plant dill, but I haven’t been able to find it at the garden stores in which I shopped. I will make a trip to my favorite garden store — Groundcovers — this weekend. They have everything.

By the way, forecast for today, rain. Sigh.

 

Alluding to Eluding the Grammar Police

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The other night my grandson Alastair asked me, “Nana, what was your favorite subject in school back when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Well, actually he didn’t say that last part, but I’m sure that’s what he was thinking. He probably wondered how I could even see my books when the only lighting came from candlelight and the potbelly stove.

The answer was simple. “English was my favorite subject,” I answered. His is math. I hated math and was never any good at it. But I always was a good speller.

“I think people like the subjects that they’re good at,” was Alastair’s conclusion when I explained my distaste for math to him. He’s a wise child at age 10.

Actually, more generally speaking, my favorite subjects were English, spelling, and literature. I absolutely LOVED to diagram sentences. Do they diagram sentences any longer?

If you would have asked me a couple of days ago if I was a good grammarian, I would have gotten a cramp in my neck from heartily patting myself on the back as I bragged that I had a SPLENDID understanding of the English language. Anyway, that’s what I would have said until I reread yesterday’s blog post about spring fever.

And immediately spotted an error. “Bad for those trying to allude a chest cold,” I said. ALLUDE instead of the correct term, ELUDE. Arghhhh. I know these things. Rookie mistake.

So I corrected it, but of course the incorrect version that I put on Facebook remains as a permanent reminder to me that perhaps my grammar ain’t all that great.

Later that day I sent a text to my son Court, who is an amazing writer. Here’s what my text said: This is a test. Look at today’s blog post and find the error.

A short time later I get his answer: You misspelled temporarily. You have temperarily.

And so I did.

He also pointed out another grammatical error. It was about then that I stopped asking him to find the mistake. And went and put my head under a pillow for the rest of the afternoon.

More times than he cares to remember, I have said to Bill, “Must I be the world’s editor?” I’ve said this in response to misspellings on store signs or restaurant menus. Seriously? Doesn’t anyone know how to spell zucchini?

I’ve started taking photos.

Here’s one……

misspell little kitchen

All the right letters, just not in the right order. Damn those French anyway.

 

And another…..

misspelled papa kelsies

Guess the H is silent. Damn those Italians. Not sure I want a peanut butt cookie either. Would it have taken that much longer to add the -er?

 

And one more…..

misspell guidos

Why misspell one word when you can misspell two? I can sort of understand “foccacia” instead of “focaccia” but to misspell “spaghetti” when you are an Italian restaurant?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But you know what Jesus said about casting the first stone. As for me, I will be working harder at proofing and trying not to write anything at 6 o’clock in the morning.

Our Spring Fever Comes from Head Colds

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back yard rain 2015

Our back yard this morning as a steady rain continues to fall.

While Arizona is enjoying a particularly nice May, here in Denver, my heat flips on each morning. Seeing the sun is such a rarity that when it comes out, people run into the street and point to the sky as if seeing a UFO. Denverites are going to Seattle to vacation so they can have nicer weather. Bada boom.

It’s been a rainy spring, and as my great-niece Mackenzie would say, I am so OVER IT. Today Denver is supposed to have a high – A HIGH – of 50.

garden play areaLast night on the local news, the weather forecaster actually seemed embarrassed to show the 10-day forecast as each and every day indicated more showers and thunderstorms. She pointed out that there has only been one day of sunshine in May. One. Don’t get me wrong; it isn’t unusual to have afternoon showers in Colorado, especially in the mountains. But I’m talking day after day of little or no sunshine at all. We keep waiting for the pattern to change, but it’s being very stubborn.

Good for the farmers, I guess. But bad for those trying to elude head and chest colds. Or plant a garden.

I’ve been trying to get my garden planted since Mother’s Day. Bill built raised gardenme a small raised garden bed out of cement blocks. You guessed it. I saw it on Pinterest. The grandkids will be astounded to see that the raised garden is right smack in their play area. Don’t worry; they can still get to the sand box and to the ladder up to the fort. They just need to go around a garden. If I can get it planted.

I have to be quick between rain showers. The other day I planted carrots, radishes, green beans, two tomato plants, and a jalapeno plant. I planted very quickly. And then I ran inside to wait out the rain shower.

A short time later when showers temporarily subsided, I planted oregano, Italian parsley, and thyme in the holes in the cinder blocks. Again, very quickly.

I have basil and chives still waiting on my kitchen counter to be planted, but neither yesterday nor today offered me the opportunity.

Cole in swingI have to keep it all in perspective, however. As I said before, the rain is good for the farmers. Our grass looks spectacular. You can see how green it is in this photo which just happens to include our youngest grandchild Cole, last in the line (so far) of kids who have enjoyed swinging on Nana’s tree swing. The photo was taken on the one day of sunshine.

Trust me.  Come July, I will be complaining about the hot weather.

Nevertheless, I am eagerly looking forward to sitting outside in the evening and enjoying the birds and the sunshine. It will happen. I know it will.

 

You’re Going Where?

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300px-Caravaggio_-_Martirio_di_San_Pietro

Caravaggio’s painting of St. Peter’s crucifixion.

Yesterday we celebrated the feast of the Ascension. It of course took me somewhere in the neighborhood of 15 minutes to find where the readings for the Mass were located in my prayer book. You see, the ACTUAL feast of the Ascension is 40 days after Easter, thereby making last Thursday the real feast day. However, last Thursday was also the feast of St. Matthias, so there were readings for his feast day as well. Confusing.

Thankfully we got to Mass early and the family in the pew in front of us with the two boys (one somewhere around 5 and the other seemingly newborn, and preemie at that) hadn’t yet arrived so I wasn’t yet distracted by watching the baby slowly slip out of the arms of his brother, whose mother inexplicably thought letting him hold his brother without her paying any attention was a good idea. I know, I know. I’m supposed to be praying. I was. Praying that Mom would turn around before little baby boy slipped much further. I seriously was poised to dive and catch.

At any rate, I found the readings and listened to Luke’s story of Jesus’ ascension from the Acts of the Apostles as well as St. Mark’s brief reference to the same thing at the end of his gospel. During the homily, when I should have been listening to our priest who is from India and very difficult to understand, I was instead thinking about the television show on Sunday nights called A.D. The Bible Continues. I’m recording it and watching it later, and so I recently watched the episode in which Jesus ascended into heaven. In the television show, his disciples sort of seem to take it all in stride. It seems to me in real life they must have been FREAKING OUT. After all, this weird thing was taking place in which Jesus disappears in a bright light, only a short time after he appeared to them having risen from the dead. My friends, it seems like a lot to digest.

But maybe even more than that, it seems like they must have been thinking, “OH MY LORD IN HEAVEN! What do we do now?” After all, Jesus had clearly instructed them to continue his teachings and to build his church. But unless they were considerably smarter than I, they must have found his teachings confusing and vague and how in heavens do we explain that Jesus ROSE FROM THE DEAD AND JUST NOW ASCENDED INTO HEAVEN?

I guess at some point they must have concluded that his teachings really weren’t that vague or confusing. Love God and love your neighbor as much as you love yourself. That’s pretty much it.

But if I’m getting nothing else from the above-mentioned television show (besides noticing just how doggone gorgeous the actors who play Jesus and his disciples are which makes me think I’m committing at least a venial sin), I’m realizing that those 12 apostles and, in fact, all of Jesus’ original disciples and followers, were BRAVE. Really, when you think how brave they were, how can you doubt that Jesus was in fact the Messiah? Those men and women clearly were steadfast in their belief that Jesus is God and he died and rose to save us from our sins. They placed themselves in danger every day to tell the rest of the world this good news.

I was startled out of my reverie when I heard Father say, “And, in conclusion…..” Thank goodness. His conclusion was that we all need to continue the work of the early disciples and spread the good news about Jesus Christ.

While there is likely no way I could ever have been as brave as Stephen and Andrew and Peter and Phillip and Thomas and all of the others who died while trying to tell the world about Jesus, I can be brave enough to talk about my faith to others. I’m probably not going to get stoned.

Saturday Smile: Don’t Bug Me

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My McLain grandchildren, including, I dare to say, the ones in Vermont, are interested in bugs. Of course, Dagny would be at the top of the list, even going so far as purporting a desire to be an entymologist when she grows up. Maggie Faith is a close runner-up. The Denver McLains almost always have some sort of container housing worms or ants or roly polys which are on their last legs — all six of them. In fact, on their cross-country adventure several years ago, they even ate an insect or two. Remember this photo…..

Dagny Bug

On the other hand, my Zierk grandchildren could live forever without six-legged or eight-legged critters. I assure you, they take after their Nana. I am not a fan of God’s six- and eight-legged creatures.

At one point on Friday, 4-year-old Mylee was so distraught at the Mylee 2015sight of several black ants on our patio that she climbed up onto one of the chairs and declared that she wouldn’t get down until the ants were dead. There was no persuading her that, while ants might not have a place in a kitchen, they certainly have a right to the outdoors.

“Where did the ants come from Nana?” she asked as if she was the health inspector. I tried explaining that they probably had a house underground and were glad to see the warm weather. Nope. She wasn’t having it. As far as she was concerned, they could just stay underground.

Later in the day, Addie came by for a visit and was outside with Mylee. I overheard Addie yell to her 4-year-old cousin, “Mylee, come see. There’s a roly poly.”

Mylee, who loves her cousin Addie, quickly rode her scooter over to where Addie was standing. I thought to myself, “Oh, oh. Girlfriend is not going to like what she sees.” As I watched, Mylee looked down, said something to Addie, turned around, and headed the other direction.

Later that night I asked Mylee what she said to Addie when she saw the roly poly.

She was quiet for a second, and then told me, “Nana, I told her that was a very good bug.”

You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of your 12-year-old cousin.

Have a great weekend and may all your bugs be good bugs.

Thursday Thoughts

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Backseat riders dagny maggie

Magnolia and Dagny provided moral support and medical advice from the back seat of my yellow bug.

Croak

My voice is slowly coming back. Yesterday was the first time I allowed myself to socialize with someone outside my family. I had lunch with a friend who didn’t mind that I was still kind of croaky. I have babysitting duties this week so I am spending lots of time with grandchildren. When I picked up the kids from school on Monday, they – and when I say “they” I am talking primarily about Maggie Faith and Dagny – were quite distraught about my voice, or lack thereof. They began giving lots of advice from the back seat. “I think you should drink a big glass of milk,” Dagny advised. I explained – well, croaked, really – that milk was probably the worst thing to drink since my throat was full of mucus and milk is thick and would not be helpful. “Suck on throat lozenges,” suggested Magnolia. I told Maggie that I thought that was a pretty good idea. Their concern and advice is touching, and might save me doctor bills in the future.

Eat What You Read

For as long as I can remember, when I read about people enjoying food in a book, I immediately begin craving that food. A year ago or so, I recall reading a mystery that took place in Mississippi in which numerous mentions were made about eating fried catfish. If we had been in Denver, I would have known exactly where to go to feed the craving for fried catfish. However, we were in Arizona, and while I’m sure there is someplace that offers fried catfish, I didn’t know what they place might be. So instead, I did a fairly good job of preparing it myself. I just finished a book that had many references to food (I will review the book tomorrow). In the course of one book, I felt the need to eat Indian food, fix myself a soft-boiled egg and a piece of buttered toast to dunk in the egg, and fix myself a piece of cinnamon toast because these things were mentioned in the book. There’s something about reading about people enjoying some kind of food that makes me want to be part of that experience. By the way, my grandmother never fixed me any other kind of egg but soft-boiled. She taught me how to cut off the end and enjoy the runny goodness. I have yet to successfully cook a soft-boiled egg. The egg turns out either too undercooked or too overcooked. But I’m still working on it.

Climbing Stairs

I have mentioned many times how much Bill and I love our house in Arizona. It’s small and one story. While neither Bill nor I have any problems climbing stairs – at least not yet – we both wish we could fold up the house and bring it home when we come back to Denver. Pretty sure Jen wouldn’t like that idea since it’s her house too. Our Denver house, while not a mansion, has an upstairs and a basement, both which we must access regularly. And again, while not a mansion, it has four bedrooms and three bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, an office, and a family room, along with the expected kitchen. Here’s what we use: the family room, the kitchen, the office, and our bedroom. The rest become storage rooms and dust collectors.

Wardrobe Swap

We have a new electronic neighborhood bulletin board that Bill and I have joined. I really like it. It’s, for example, how I found the young man who shoveled our walks this past winter. I noticed one of the ads yesterday was for someone who wanted to know if anyone was interested in doing a wardrobe swap as she has apparently lost weight. It made me laugh out loud. I would like to see the look on someone’s face when they took a look at my wardrobe. They seriously would start taking up a collection so that I could purchase, well, a wardrobe.

It Takes a Village

Yesterday when I picked up the grandkids from school, I looked around and noticed that somewhere in the neighborhood of a third of the folks waiting for school dismissal were clearly grandparents. What would we do without our extended family?

 

Now Where Did I Put That Again?

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William PerryIt’s taken me 61 years to realize that when God was giving out organizational skills, I was apparently not only standing in the back of the line, but I was behind someone really big, like maybe William “Refrigerator” Perry. Oh, I know….God sees all things. I’m just trying to make a point.

When it comes to organization, I have none.

My lack of skills in this area became abundantly clear to me recently when my daughter-in-law was making arrangements for her four children because both she and our son Dave were going to be out of town at the same time. Apparently they didn’t feel leaving cans of Campbell’s soup and cracking the windows was enough; the children actually needed supervision. Helicopter parents.

Dave and Jll will be the first to admit they are lucky to have a plethora of family and friends to help out when they are in this kind of situation. Three grandmothers, one grandfather, an aunt, an uncle, and many friends all willingly pitch in to provide support. It does, indeed, take a village.

Jll asked me many weeks ago if Bill and I could help them out, and we happily agreed. She always spreads out the duties so that none of us feel overwhelmed. In addition, she always sends out an organizational chart that looks like this…..

jlls list

Seriously. It’s color-coordinated. We can all figure out our duties at a glance just by knowing what color we are. Next time I’m going to ask to be pink instead of green. Green isn’t in my color wheel.

That’s organized.

Bill's ipadBill is also very organized. Tool cabinets, boxes for paint supplies, shelves on which he places anything that relates to our cars. Even his IPad is organized. While my IPad has apps in the order in which I acquired them, haphazardly placed wherever they landed, Bill has created little folders with titles such as “News” and “Travel” and “Sports” and “Shopping.” He can access information almost instantly. Should I create little folders, I would never remember what I’ve put into which folder. Is Amazon in my book folder or my shopping folder? Should I look at my home folder or my cooking folder to find Pinterest?

Believe me, I am not poking fun at either of them, not in the least little bit. I wish I had a 10th of that organizational ability.

Every once in a while, I get an urge to organize. For example, recently, while still in Arizona, I got tired of digging around for the plastic containersright lid to my plastic food containers. The containers themselves were stuffed inside a cabinet. I practically had to carefully open the cupboard, toss the container in and quickly shut the door before it came tumbling out. Not quite that bad, but almost.

So I did what I always do when I get that rare itch to organize. I made a trip to The Container Store. But before I did that, I spent one entire morning taking out all of my containers and all of my lids and seeing what matched. Surprisingly, I only ended up with a couple of stray lids and/or containers. It appears I’m not careless, only disorganized.

I explained to Bill what I wanted to do, and he went with me to The Container Store. Together, we found a big plastic bin to hold the containers and a small, plastic bin to hold the lids. I then did something I learned on (where else?) Pinterest: I numbered everything. So each container has a number and the lid has a matching number.

The first time Jen opened that cupboard, she said (with a little too much surprise, I thought), “Kris, this looks great!”

The pride I felt from her praise, unfortunately didn’t result in me moving on to organize my closet. You know how I said when you have a house, something always goes wrong, and when you have two houses, mishaps happen to the second power? Well, the same holds true for closets. When you have two houses, you also have two messy closets.

Maybe I need to make a trip to The Container Store.