While I didn’t actually see it happen, apparently this actually took place last Tuesday on the Fox News station here in Phoenix….
WATCH: Phoenix meteorologist keeps his cool as Arizona seemingly broils
But it’s a dry heat.
Have a great weekend.
Category Archives: Whimsies
Grocery Greed
Produce department of small grocery store in Paxton, Nebraska.
Once when I was a little girl, Mom sent me to the neighborhood IGA grocery store to pick up two items that she needed to make dinner – a head of lettuce and a can of corn. I was probably around 10 years old.
So I got on my blue bicycle with the fat wheels and the wire basket hanging from the handle bars and pedaled over to the IGA store. It only took about three minutes to get there. And it was a fun ride because I rode through East Park with its curvy streets and scarce traffic. I could ride like the wind.
I returned maybe 15 minutes later with the groceries and her change and handed her the bag containing the two things I had purchased – a head of cabbage and a can of hominy. And trust me when I say I had no idea what hominy was or how it would be used. Frankly, I still don’t.
Oy vey, she must have thought (or would have had she been Jewish instead of Catholic; maybe instead she said “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph”). I don’t remember if she sent me back again. I suspect she did.
It’s funny that I remember that incident so clearly. I hadn’t thought about it in years, but it came back to me the other day at the grocery store, because I noticed – and not for the first time – just how many choices of things there are these days.
For example, there used to be potato chips. Then there were barbecue chips. Pretty soon there was sour cream and onion (a flavor I can scarce resist to this day). Now there are innumerable flavors from jalapeno to honey Dijon. For the record, while most of my grandchildren will happily eat any kind of potato chip, Kaiya has made it clear that she will only eat the chips from the yellow bag and with no ripples. That would be plain Lays Potato Chips for you potato chip neophytes. Who knew a 6-year-old could be a potato chip connoisseur?
The same is true of soft drinks. I am astounded by just how many 
choices I have these days. That’s true not just at the grocery store, but also at any restaurant that has those new fancy-dancy red pop machines that give you nearly infinite choices. Do I want 7-Up or Fanta Orange or ginger ale? If I choose 7-Up, do I want to add lemon, lime, cherry, black cherry, or raspberry? Do I want regular, diet, or the new “10” that I don’t quite understand? It seriously takes me 10 minutes to serve myself a glass of soda. And I’m not the only one. There are literally lines of folks facing the same dilemma as me. It used to be so easy.
Tropical scented handle. Dreamy…..
What brought this to my attention specifically the other day was my search for a razor. I naively walked up to the area where the implements hung, and was struck by my choices. Once I settled upon Venus (from the plethora of available choices), I had to decide whether or not I wanted to pay extra to have shaving cream automatically squirted onto my legs from the blades, for a considerable extra cost. Once I decided I could soap up my legs myself, then I had to choose whether I wanted regular or tropical-scented. I liked the colors of the tropical scented razors, but was indelibly struck by the statement on the packaging that the razors had “tropical-scented handles.”
I don’t know what to make of this. It simply flummoxes me. Will I really be smelling the handle of my razor? But I imagine the company that makes Venus Razors has done market research indicating that having a tropical smelling handle will make consumers more likely to choose their brand than the brand with a handle that smells like, I don’t know, plastic.
It was easier in the days of small grocery stores with limited options. During our trip to Nebraska last summer, Bec and I stopped for lunch at a restaurant in the very, very small town of Paxton, Nebraska. Across from the restaurant was a grocery store – I presume the only one in town. I was very curious, so we walked into the store. From what we could tell, the grocery store sold everything a family needs, but offered limited choices. It would make shopping so much easier.
Still, it remains to be seen whether or not that tropical smell on the handles of my razors – likely not available at the Paxton grocery store – makes shaving that much more pleasant. I may start shaving twice a day!
If I was a betting woman, my bet would be no.
Cooking With What You Got: Refrigerator Quiche
What you got…and what you don’t
By Beckie Borman
Most nights my dinner consists of a bit of protein in the form of grilled meat or fish, and either veggies or a salad. Besides the fact that it’s good for me (I think), it’s also a simple meal to prepare. Occasionally, however, I don’t feel like eating the same old meal, so I begin to scrounge through my refrigerator to see “what I got” that I can use for dinner. Many times, I land on the idea of a quiche. Interestingly, at least to me, I don’t know that I ever made a quiche until a couple of years ago. For some reason, I decided to make one for myself, and the rest is history! One of the things I like about quiche is that there are as many variations as there are leftovers in my frig.
So, the other evening I was searching for a meal idea and noticed that I had one ready-made pie crust that needed to be used or discarded. “Quiche!” I thought. I always have eggs and milk on hand. That night, I had a carton of heavy cream with an upcoming expiration date. I usually keep a small sliced ham for breakfasts and for flavoring soups or vegetables. The recipe I use calls for Swiss cheese, which I didn’t have, but I had a little bit of shredded parmesan, as well as a small piece of a random cheese left over from…something. I tasted it and determined that it would work well with the parm. I like mushrooms in quiche, but I didn’t have any. However, I had a few spears of cooked asparagus from a previous dinner, so that would do as well. Yes, I had all the makings of a yummy and easy dinner.
I pulled out all the ingredients, measured them up, and went to the back room to get a pie plate. Hmmm…not where I expected it to be. After a bit of searching I realized that both my pie plates were at my son Erik’s house, where we had recently celebrated a holiday feast. Fortunately, it’s only a 15-minute round trip to his house, so I was able to buzz over and retrieve my plates.
Although quiche is a quick dish to throw together, it does have a long baking time. But for me it’s always worth the wait. I can enjoy a big slice for dinner and have plenty left over for future breakfasts and lunches. Because another great thing about quiche is that you really can eat it any any time of the day.
My advice, however, is that before you assemble your ingredients, make sure you have something to bake them in!
Here is Beckie’s Basic Quiche Recipe….
POTUS?
Alfre Woodard as TV’s State of Affairs’ President Constance Payton
For most of my grown-up working life I was a professional communicator of some sort. I was a reporter, I wrote and produced newsletters, I was a media spokesperson, and so forth. But there was never any doubt that the aspect of my job that I liked the best was that of legislative liaison.
For one thing, I was so proud that I could spell the word liaison, with that extra “i” and all.
Anyhoo, in that position, I worked with legislators and their staffs on the local, state, and federal level. As a result of this job description, I traveled to Washington D.C. on numerous occasions and met Colorado’s U.S. Representatives and Senators. I’m not lying when I say I met with the members, as I think I actually met each one who served while I was legislative liaison. However, I must admit to you that I mostly worked with staff members, who (you will not be surprised to learn) actually do all of the research and analysis – the work, really — and are approximately 20 years old. And smart as hell.
I was thrilled to have such an exciting job, and the job came with lots of perks. Great restaurants for entertaining staff, opportunities to hear well-known political analysts speak (yes, it’s true; I’m a nerd), passes to watch the Supreme Court in action (you don’t have to pay, but you do need a pass to get in). Once I was able to sit in on a Senate Committee where I watched Colorado Senator Wayne Allard listen to testimony about, oh, I don’t know, something. The point is I was able to see and do LOTS OF COOL THINGS that most people will never have a chance to see and do.
I recognize how lucky I was.
Having said all of this, I will finally get to the point.
Without a doubt, the coolest thing I did in all of my years as a professional communicator was visit the West Wing of the White House one night after 10 o’clock.
Now, don’t start panicking. I wasn’t one of those people you have been hearing about who have been leaping over the White House walls and getting so close to the president’s residence that they are tromping on Michelle’s organic vegetables and drinking Gator Ade out of the Obama’s refrigerator.
I had what is, in the world of professional communicators, technically called an in. I had a friend who had a friend who had a friend who was the correspondence secretary for President George W. Bush. As a result of her position, she had permission to give tours of the West Wing of the White House after important work was finished for the night.
And since, if you will recall, George and Laura hit the hay by 9 o’clock each night, that meant it was a go by 10 o’clock unless Russia was invading the Ukraine or some such distraction leading to a late bedtime. No entertaining famous Hollywood stars at wild parties during the Bush years.
I had to pass a background check, of course. And then it was a go.
I stood inside the Situation Room where decisions about wars and other military actions have been made for years. I sat in a chair in the conference room where you see the president meeting with his/her staff in all sorts of television programs. The TV show West Wing comes immediately to mind. I wasn’t able to walk into the Oval Office, but I was able to stand in the doorway and look in. I can’t tell you how thrilling that was for me. I walked down the oh-so-familiar portico by the Rose Garden, and the president and Laura’s bedroom window was pointed out to me. The light was still on, my friends, and it was probably 10:30. A wild night for the Bushes.
Probably most fun for me, however, was visiting the press room where I had witnessed an unknown number of press conferences from an unknown number of presidents and their press secretaries over an unknown number of years. There I stood, clutching the podium, with the familiar White House logo in the background. My friend snapped my photo.
That photo sits in a frame on my desk, and I look at it often and always feel the same sense of awe that I actually stood where so many famous people have stood. I told you, I’m a nerd.
Recently 6-year-old Kaiya was in my office and caught sight for the first time of that photo. With absolute dead seriousness, she cried out, “Nana, WERE YOU THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES?”
Only slightly tempted to say yes, I instead admitted I wasn’t, but that I was standing right where the president stands when she sees him on television.
I guess that is about the height of my status with my grands. It’s downhill from here. I may not have been the president, but I always have Oreos in my cookie jar.
President Barack Obama. No Oreos.
Nana Kris. Oreos.
Fishers of Men
Jesus said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Then they abandoned their nets and followed him. – Mark 1:17-18
The Anglican nuns from the awesome PBS television program Call the Midwife.
I’m probably not going to be able to make a meaningful connection from yesterday’s Gospel to my life, but I simply love that particular Gospel story, and “meaningful” is not particularly in my repertoire anyway. However, it never has failed to move me and amaze me that Peter and Andrew and James and John dropped what they were doing — that being fishing — to go follow this charismatic Jesus, simply because he asked.
It must have made Mrs. Simon Peter simply furious. “You’re doing WHAT?” I can imagine her telling him. “And just how are we supposed to get food on our table, Mr. On-This-Rock-I-Will-Build-My-Church?”
“I always thought he was capricious and temperamental,” his mother-in-law likely sniffed.
But, “I’ll make you fishers of men,” Jesus told them. Compelling proposition.
I always wondered if they had heard stories about this man and the things he preached and so were drawn to him. Or was there just something about Jesus that appealed to them and earned their immediate trust? There was no world-wide web or Facebook or Instagram. I don’t imagine word traveled very quickly. Still, even without social media, gossip mills were present from the beginning of time. Biblical scholars probably know the answer to this question, having studied the whole matter thoroughly.
Maybe Mary and Simon Peter’s mother-in-law were in the same PEO group. (Don’t worry; I’m watching carefully for bolts of lightning.)
In his homily, our deacon talked about how God calls us all every day and we need to listen for God’s call and answer him. Makes sense to me.
But I have to tell you that in my formative years in Catholic elementary school, many a nun told us that God calls some lucky people to serve as nuns and priests. And if God calls, they warned us, YOU MUST SAY YES.
I’m sure all of my classmates went home eagerly awaiting the call from God to serve as a priest or nun. I’m ashamed to tell you, my friends, (and I PROMISE this is a true story) I would lie in bed at night and pray to God that he would NOT call me to be a nun. I literally would say, “Dear God, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE don’t ask me to serve you that way. I DON’T WANT TO BE A NUN. Thank you, and Amen.
He never called. I’m pretty sure he didn’t want the likes of me.
Having said all of this, I will leave you with a song from one of my favorite bluegrass singers, Rhonda Vincent. The song moves me beyond belief….
Saturday Smile: Man Cannot Live on Bread Alone
Jen came into town yesterday to celebrate Lilly’s first birthday at a party this afternoon. There is so much bustling going on over at Maggie’s house that it seems like the queen might be coming.
Bill and I picked her up from the airport because Maggie had to work last night — she serves food at a very good restaurant. Because Jen understandably wanted to see Maggie, we decided to go to that restaurant for dinner.
And because she also wanted to see her grandkids last night, we stopped by the house so she could give Austin and Lilly hugs and kisses. When Austin heard we were having dinner where Mommy works, well, he was soooo going with us.
Not only that, but he immediately began talking about the bread sticks they serve. “I want to eat a LOT of them,” he said.
What’s a lot? we wondered. “TEN,” he told us.
Well friends, he didn’t eat 10, but eat didn’t fall short of that. He was so eager, in fact, that as soon as we sat down, he (true story) noticed the table next to them had bread sticks, and he told his grammy, “I’m going to go get one of their breadsticks.” It was a no-go, of course.
Well, from this children’s menu…..
….he forewent the soup of the day, eschewed the garlic hummus with flatbread, and dismissed the broiled catch of the day (all funny things to see on a children’s menu when you’re used to seeing weinies and mac & cheese), and chose pizza. But, friends, he ate the tiniest little bite from the corner of the pizza because, MAN HE WAS FULL from eating all those breadsticks.
And tired…..
By the way, the breadsticks are amazing. Slathered in garlic butter and covered with Parmesan cheese. Yum. We each managed to get one apiece.
Have good weekend.
Friday Book Whimsy: The Time Between
Life is too short to read a bad book. This is a mantra oft spoken by this book reviewer, as my readers well know. There are simply too many books to read.
Having said this, it is incumbent upon me to say that what constitutes a good book is in the eye and mind of the reader. That is why there are so many genres of books and so many authors. Often, the very book that I detested turns out to be one that someone else simply loved.
A couple of Fridays ago, I posted my favorite reads of 2014, and asked readers to do the same. From that exercise, I learned that one of my readers (who also happens to be a cousin) appears to have very similar reading tastes to mine. But I was also surprised to see that she mentioned the names of a couple of authors with whom I was familiar but had never read.
One of these is Karen White.
So I decided to give one of White’s books a try. And I had very many from which to choose. Over 20, in fact. I chose, based on my cousin’s recommendation, The Time Between.
Simply put, it was love at first sight. The Time Between has everything I like in a novel. The characters were interesting and likeable, though not particularly sweet. The story is set in low-country South Carolina, as are many of White’s novels – and we all know how I feel about southern literature. Love it, love it, love it. Though not a mystery, there is an element of mystery, and the reader isn’t let in on the secret until nearly the end. There is a romantic element, but it doesn’t drive the story. And finally, and most important, the ending is hopeful.
The main character, Eleanor, is consumed with guilt from the part she played in a childhood accident that left her beloved sister paralyzed from the waist down. That, along with the extreme sadness she feels at the loss of her father many years before, lead her to an unhappy life, built mostly around caring for her sister and feeling a loss because the man she and her sister both loved chose her sister.
Eleanor agrees to care for her boss’s Aunt Helena whose own beloved sister recently died under mysterious circumstances. Over a period of time, Eleanor learns that Helena has her own secrets, and eventually the two save one another from a life of despondency.
White’s writing is simple and so very beautiful. Reading her words is like hearing a friend tell you a story.
The best part is that I have very many novels yet to read. There is nothing that makes me happier than discovering a new author, and it’s even better when you discover the author is prolific!
Buy The Time Between from Amazon here.
Buy The Time Between from Barnes and Noble here.
Buy The Time Between from Tattered Cover here.
Buy The Time Between from Changing Hands here.
Check This Out
Many, many years ago, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, I was a grocery clerk at a Safeway store in Leadville, Colorado. That particular work experience took place during the time when I was entirely convinced that college wasn’t for me and that I would be perfectly content being married with kids and perhaps working at a simple clerical-type job.
A year’s service at Safeway was enough to convince me that, while there is nothing wrong with that particular life choice, it wasn’t the life choice for me.
I held a number of jobs while working for Safeway, from stocking the shelves in what was called the “non-foods” area to working in the understandably-detested dairy section. Detested because the refrigerators were cold and the cases of milk were extremely heavy and there was no one to help me lift them onto my stocking cart. Everyone did their own job, and did no one else’s job for them. Period. That’s the way it was. It was a union store.
But my favorite job – and the job at which I most excelled – was that of check-out clerk. It was the mid-70s and computerized cash registers were not even a gleam in Alan Turing’s eyes. Digital scanners were thirty years away.
No, it was the old push-button kind of cash registers, not much more advanced than the one which I’d used in Dad’s bakery in Columbus, Nebraska. The customer rolled his or her cart up to me, and I pulled items out, looked at the paper price tag, and keyed in the price. The thing is, I got really good at this job. I could key in the price without ever looking at the cash register keyboard. I would pick up the item, key in the price, and send it flying down to the grocery bagger so quickly that he or she simply couldn’t keep up.
I got no reward for being so quick. In fact, I worked harder than anyone else because customers recognized that they could get through my line quicker, so there would be much longer lines at my cash register. Being a union shop, it didn’t matter to other checkers whether or not I was quicker than they. The pay was the same, no matter what.
But it mattered to me. I literally would challenge myself to see how quickly I could get a customer through my line, at the same time being friendly and helpful. Man, I was fast.
I thought about this yesterday at the grocery store. I happened to get into a grocery line staffed by a clerk who had that same mentality. She tore through my groceries. She had the advantage, of course, of digital scanners, but I was checked out from beginning to end literally within a couple of minutes. And I had a grocery cart full of stuff.
I complimented her on her quickness, and you could tell she was pleased that I recognized her talent. Because I also know that she was getting paid the same as the clerk in the next line who wasn’t nearly as quick and who didn’t care at all that she wasn’t. Something seems wrong with this picture.
Anyway, I relayed my thoughts to Jen, who told me she got into a grocery line recently and noticed that the checker was one she always avoids. Despite the fact that her line was the shortest, Jen moved to the next line, where there were two people in front of her. When she finished paying for her groceries, she noticed that the slow checker was still working with the same customer and her not-terribly-full grocery cart.
Over the years, I have thought about why I tried so hard as a checker, and I concluded that it’s because I am motivated by praise more than money. That was true throughout my professional life. Nothing felt better than someone telling me I did a good job. And basically, that’s what my customers were telling me, both verbally and by their act of preferring my line.
Are there cashiers you avoid at the grocery store?
By the way, my daughter-in-law Lauren sent me an email the other day with the subject line “I thought of you”. Talk about words making me happy! It’s nice to be thought of….
Anyway, the email included a link to an amazing recipe which I simply had to make that very same day. The recipe calls for using an entire sheet of puff pastry; however, I used a third of the sheet and only made four Nutella Puffs. They were a delicious after-dinner treat, and unbelievably easy to make.
Ay! Caramba
Bill cuts up the meat as Dave carefully grills the onions and peppers. Have you ever seen a more beautiful view?
I’ve mentioned before that when we get to Arizona in late December, we spend much of our time celebrating something or other – Christmas, New Year’s, birthdays, bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, (well, not those last two, but you get the gist). And this year we had the added celebration of a long weekend visit from our son and his family, which included a fiesta at my brother’s house.
For the Gloor clan, fiesta is code for any kind of celebration that involves Mexican food. Most often, it involves Jen and/or Maggie preparing green chile. This past weekend, our fiesta revolved around carne asada and pollo asada, and there was no green chile to be seen.
There are various and sundry recipes for the marinade for carne asada and pollo asada,
Court shows Kaiya how to correctly roast a marshmallow to achieve perfect golden brownness.
but I often take the easy way out and just go to a Mexican market where they have already done the work. You can see the beautiful steak and chicken marinading away in the juice, onions, lemons, and limes, as well as whatever other magical ingredient the butchers want to include.
So Saturday Bill and I took a trek to Food City in nearby Apache Junction.
Food City is not a Mexican market by definition. However, this particular Food City is located in a largely Hispanic area of AJ, so it is a Mexican market by default. As such, you can find all sorts of interesting vegetables, especially peppers, both dried and fresh. But you can also find chayote, prickly pear, and these gorgeous onions that look like a scallion on steroids. Drench these onions in olive oil and season liberally with whatever sounds good to you. I use Montreal seasoning and season salt. Then grill alongside Anaheim peppers and jalapenos for delicious sides to your meat.
I figured a half pound of meat per person, and was advised by the butcher that this would be way too much. It wasn’t, of course, because, well, we enjoy our food. My brother fired up both his gas grill and his charcoal grill. He and Bill grilled the meat while they smoked their cigars and watched the sun start to set in the west.
Once everyone had eaten and the tables had been cleared and the dishes put in the dishwasher, someone lit a fire in the fire pit, and marshmallow roasting began. Kaiya announced that she had never eaten s’mores before, so she took great delight in the preparation. Two for her, thank you very much.
Now I expect I will have to get back to normal life, which will include a trip to the grocery store to stock up on staples. Grocery shopping in the Land of Winter Visitors is never a walk in the park, but with my new-and-improved positive outlook on life, I will just be glad that I am currently living in an area where the temperature is running about 75 during the day!
Making a Mountain Out of a Molehill
The Frontier burrito from the Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque, NM.
Our kids made it home safely, and more important, they stopped at the Frontier Restaurant in Albuquerque for lunch on their way. I think Court has just heard me talk one time too many about the sheer deliciousness of the Frontier Burrito to not stop and try it for himself. His conclusion: “It was delicious.”
That’s an understatement.
The Frontier Restaurant sits on a corner right across the street from the University of New Mexico. There is not one thing even remotely glamorous about it. It is long and narrow, consisting of three or four rooms divided by doorways, giving the feeling of an old house to which the owners kept adding rooms as their family grew. On the wall are examples of western art and artifacts, some amazingly good and some, well, not so good. The clientele is a mixture of students, professors, and locals looking for a bowl of the good green stuff.
You order at the counter. There is almost always a line, especially when school is in session. When it is your turn to order, you watch for the green light to go on above the person who is available to take your order. Green means go.
After ordering and paying, you sit down and wait for your number to appear on the omnipresent displays all around the restaurant. When your number comes up, you go pick up your food from another counter.
If you are in the know, you then move over to the vats of green chili stew available to pour over your already smothered meat and bean burrito. It is hot enough that if your nose doesn’t run and your eyes aren’t watering, you better check your pulse.
Exquisite yumminess for sure.
The Frontier sells their homemade tortillas and green chili stew. Bill and I stop at the Frontier no matter which way we’re going and no matter the time of day – breakfast, lunch, or dinner. When we are heading south to Arizona, we always buy four dozen fresh tortillas, one dozen for Maggie, one dozen for my brother Dave, one dozen for Beckie, and one for us. I believe my family fakes their joy at seeing us but are really joyful to see the tortillas. For some reason, we have never bought the green chili stew, though it is so delicious it nearly makes me cry! I guess that’s because no matter which direction we’re going, we always have a seven hour drive ahead of us and, well, you know, salmonella and all…
Anyway, there are about a million reasons I was glad about our weekend visitors, but not the least among the reasons is that they could try all of our favorite foods, restaurants, and sights.
Which brings me to a funny story.
I have mentioned before that despite the fact that I spend much of my time at the foot of the glorious Rocky Mountains, Superstition Mountain right here in the East Valley of Phoenix is my favorite mountain. I love the desert, and the mountain is typical of our desert terrain, complete with its smoky pink color and the saguaro cacti that poke up all over its base.
So I was happy that our Colorado family got to see it up close Sunday when we spent the day at Dave and Sami’s house. We took separate cars, so when I heard their car drive up, I hurried out to greet them. When 6-year-old Kaiya got out of the car, I turned her towards the Superstition Mountain and asked her, “Kaiya, isn’t that the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen?”
She looked at it for a few moments, then turned to me, wholly unimpressed.
“Nana, there’s nothing special about that. It’s just ONE mountain,” she sniffed.
Spoken like a true Colorado native.
Here is a copycat version of Frontier’s Green Chile Stew. I haven’t tried it yet, so I can’t confirm that it is even close. Sounds like it is, though.
Nana's Whimsies 