We are happily settled (well, mostly settled) into our AZ home. I will admit that the news stories about the omicron virus the days just prior to our travel day made me nervous about traveling, especially in light of Bill’s and my upcoming surgeries. I’m beginning to hate the Greek alphabet.

Our Christmas travel day was not without its weird problems.

Our first bump in the road appeared early. I had ordered a Lyft the day before to arrive Christmas morning at 9 o’clock. Sure enough, the Lyft driver showed up on time. We had our luggage outside and Bill was standing with the luggage. I had stayed in the house to use the bathroom one last time and lock the door. When I came out, there was no Lyft car. “Where’s our Lyft car?” I asked Bill. “Gone,” Bill replied. “He got back into his car and sped away.” Whaaaaaat? I quickly ordered another car, and I am grateful that she was there in about 10 minutes. I’ve taken many a Lyft, but I’ve never had anyone bail on me. Our replacement driver was friendly, but drove 85 mph on I-225 to the airport. Bill’s and my toes were curled.

Next, for reasons that we can’t quite understand (except that perhaps the woman at the American Airlines counter was expecting a diamond ring from her boyfriend for Christmas, but instead got a flannel shirt and some Christmas socks), Jen’s dog Winston was booted from the flight. No matter that he has flown with her in the same portable kennel any number of times; the counter attendant refused to allow him to travel saying he was too cramped. Winston — who by that time had received his sedative — was overheard to say, “No way, Man. Everything’s cool. I’m just going to take a nap anyway. Just throw in a bag of Doritos and I’m good to go.”

However, God’s hand was even in this unexpected and upsetting situation. Jen had tried to talk her son B.J. from walking her in, pointing out that she was perfectly capable of handling Winston and her bag by herself. Being the Good Son, B.J. insisted on not only walking her in, but staying until she and Winston got their boarding passes. Had he not been there, Jen would have been forced to forego the flight altogether. B.J. took Winston home with him.

Once we got through security, I was desperate to take off my mask. Bill and I went to the Chop House to take off our masks and have a Bloody Mary. I figured Jen could use one by that time. She was feeling sad at not being allowed to bring her best buddy. She told me she wanted to go get a bottle of water and would meet us there.

However, for reasons we can’t quite understand (except that perhaps the hostess at the Chop House was expecting a diamond ring from her boyfriend for Christmas, but instead got a Dust Buster and some N95 face masks), Jen, who bought a small bag of popcorn to eat on the flight, wasn’t allowed into the restaurant because of her popcorn. Perhaps they were concerned that she would bust open the tiny bag and share her popcorn, telling everyone to cancel their food orders.

We called Lyft at the Phoenix Airport, and as I waited for Bill and Jen to get their luggage, I watched the Lyft price increase by $30! What’s a person to do, so we got into our very expensive Lyft with Jimmy, who was heavily bearded and eschewed the use of a mask. He only drove 80 mph. I guess you get what you get in the way of Lyft or Uber drivers on Christmas Day.

Still, the three of us had a nice dinner of Cornish game hens, roasted veggies, and baked potatoes. I had purchased all of the goods before we left at Thanksgiving.

Now we just need to outrun the Omicron Variant prior to our surgeries.

Nana’s Whimsies is taking a break for the Christmas holiday. I will be back on December 27.

Have a wonderful holiday.

This point of the Christmas season reminds me a bit of the final three minutes of an NBA game that I am losing. I’m flying around, trying to get those final points, or in my analogy, the final presents. It’s finally time to wrap those presents that I have been ignoring for the past month. I have to count to make sure that I’m being fair to everyone. Grandkid A has more gifts, but I spent more money on Grandkid B, I find myself thinking as I count gifts and add in my head. I always give the grands pajamas (I have every year since Addie was born, so I’m not giving away a great secret if one of them happens to stumble upon this blog). Finding the correct size was easy when they were toddlers. Now half of my grandkids are taller than me, and I have no idea what size they wear. I fear buying too large a size for the girls, or too small a size for the boys, thereby creating the scenario where the pj’s end up at the bottom of their underwear drawer.

That’s why every year when we get on the airplane on Christmas Day, I give a HUGE sigh of relief. It’s all finished. No more shopping. No more wrapping. No more cooking. Just getting settled in our AZ home. This year, of course, I only have about a week to really enjoy desert relaxation because come the week of January 3, Bill and I begin our Surgical Escapade. Two for him; one for me. But the impact of mine will be longer, as I will be non-weight-bearing for up to six weeks. I’m pulling a Scarlett O’Hara and not thinking about anything until tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day.

In the meantime, this past weekend I concluded what I like to call my birthday week. Bill and I went to Fort Collins where we celebrated with Jen, her pooch Winston (who loves a good birthday), and her son B.J. Jen and I went to hear the Colorado Bach Ensemble perform the Christmas part of Handel’s Messiah. When it finished, we both looked at each other and said, “It wasn’t long enough.” I love that piece of music so much. It was fun to enjoy it with my sister who loves it too.

Much to our surprise, we had to show proof of vaccination to get into the program. Jen keeps her card in her purse, and I am thankful that I thought to take a photo of mine. Otherwise we would have been sent packing. I was also surprised to see that the members of the chorus were required to wear masks throughout the performance, though the soloists could remove theirs when they sang. And the musicians who played an instrument that didn’t involve the mouth all wore masks. All part of the pandy!

After the performance, Jen and I met Bill and B.J. at our favorite Fort Collins restaurant, RARE. Any meal that starts with a martini and ends with chocolate volcano cake can’t be bad…..

Though turning 68 is not quite as much fun as turning, say, 7, I must admit that my 2021 birthday celebration was outstanding.

Let the countdown to December 25 begin.

I mentioned the other day that Mylee, Cole, and I watched a couple of Christmas movies that had to do with switching identities. Cole sat in a chair facing the television, as did Mylee. I sat on the couch off to the side. Cole had his iPad on his lap, and I assumed he was playing a game while he watched the movie. At some point, I walked in front of him to reach something on the table next to his chair.

“Nana, you’re in my way,” he told me. I explained it was just for a moment.

Mylee answered, “But he’s recording the movie on his iPad.”

I immediately flashed back to the Seinfeld episode where Kramer gets caught in the movie theater recording a movie illegally, and started laughing. I will assure any video police that he only recorded a bit because I pointed out that the movie was available from his parents’ own Netflix account. I don’t think that counts as pirating!

Have a great weekend.

Tales
Bill and I went out for dinner Tuesday night. We had a very nice server. I am interested in people, perhaps because of my journalistic training. For this reason, I strike up conversations with all manner of folks, from servers to grocery workers to people with whom I’m standing in line. During our hour-and-fifteen-minute dinner, I was able to glean the following information from our server. He grew up in New Jersey, but came to Colorado because NEW JERSEY. He has a girlfriend, who just found out that she is pregnant. He is delighted, because he’s always wanted to have children. He is one of five boys, so he is hoping for a girl. His mother recently passed away. He loved his grandparents very much. They were married for 62 years. One of his favorite things about his family is their sense of humor. As an example, he told us that his grandfather told his grandmother, “I better NEVER catch you having an affair.” Her response was, “OK, you won’t ever catch me!”

It’s Just What I Wanted!
The restaurant Tuesday evening was quite busy, or at least the section in which we sat was full. Perhaps they put everyone in one section to create the illusion that they aren’t about to be shut down because of sanitation violations. Anyhoo, there was a table right next to ours in which three 50-some aged women sat and enjoyed martinis and wine, laughing like old friends. After they placed their order with the server from New Jersey with the funny grandparents, they pulled out from underneath their table four or five really, really, big Christmas bags, and commenced opening gifts. There were fur purses and candles and a sweater or two, with lots of oooohs and aaaahs as each opened a few gifts. It amused me that they seemed to have purchased the largest gifts to exchange at a rather small restaurant table. As Bill and I got up to leave, I (being me) couldn’t help but comment to them about how much fun they seemed to be having opening their GIGANTIC presents. They laughed and agreed that the presents were oversized for the space allowed. “We do this every year,” one of the women told me. “We eat dinner together and exchange Christmas gifts with one another. We have so much fun.” That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Kissing
The other day, Cole and Mylee and I were watching a Christmas movie in which two women discover they look alike. Upon making that discovery, they decide to switch places so the one woman (who was a princess) could see what it’s like to be a commoner and the other woman could see what it’s like being a princess. (Hey, I didn’t write the story.) Of course, the women fell in love with the other woman’s boyfriend (who the other women didn’t really like anyway). One of the men and women were about to kiss, and Cole was beside himself. “They shouldn’t kiss because that’s the other girl’s boyfriend,” he said in an stern voice. I told him I think it was all going to turn out alright. “Oh boy,” he said. “This is a disaster.” And we thought COVID was a disaster.

And Hugs
That same day, I drove the kids home in the evening. I kissed them all goodbye, and headed out the door. In the time and distance between their front door and my car that was parked in the street, Cole came running out three times to give me another kiss. He really is my best buddy. He reminds me very much of my nephew B.J., who, like Cole, could be a stinker (and still can be), but is as loving as the day is long.

Ciao.

Because I was busy celebrating my birthday yesterday, I didn’t have time to write a new blog post. Hence, you will have to reread what I did previously for my birthday, in the days before a worldwide pandemic struck and changed our world forever!

The first time I ever heard Handel’s Messiah was when my sister Bec participated in the oratorio as part of a University of Nebraska choir. I was hooked from the first comfort ye my people. In particular, I found the choruses astoundingly beautiful.

In high school, I was part of a chorus, but it wasn’t really a choice. Music class was a required part of our school’s curriculum, but if it had been a choice, I would have taken the class. I love singing with a choir— always have and always will.

So when I entered the University of Nebraska,I followed in my sister’s footsteps and auditioned for the chorus that performed Handel’s Messiah. To this day I don’t know how I managed to be selected. I can carry a tune — or at least I used to be able to carry a tune; now I just sort of warble. However, I do not purport to have a lovely singing voice. The choir director asked me what part I sang. I said alto, not because I firmly believed I was an alto, but because that’s the part Bec sang. f it was good enough for her, it was good enough for me. After my audition, the director told me, “You passed the audition. I’m not convinced, however, that you are an alto.” But I sang the alto part, and I’ve never looked back.

Saturday night, my birthday gift to myself was a ticket to hear the Colorado Bach Ensemble sing the entire Messiah. Singing the entire oratorio is a Big Deal, because it’s long. Three hours long. It’s divided up into three parts — the birth of Christ, Christ’s passion, and the promise of eternal life.

Since I discovered the Colorado Bach Ensemble, I’ve attended their performances of the Messiah. They are always performed in a church. Two years in a row, the church was near our house. This year they moved to a beautiful old Methodist church downtown, with the huge pipe organ and amazing acoustics. I long ago decided I would only go to the Messiah with someone who loves it like I love it. I have no interest in being with someone who is looking at his or her watch, wishing it was over. Bill always says he’ll go, but he would be looking at his watch. Bless his heart.

Last year I went with my friend Megan, who passed away a few months later. My heart is happy that we attended the performance that she loved like me. This year, I was supposed to go with my sister Jen, but weather got in the way. Or at least we thought it was going to get in our way, but the snow they predicted never materialized in Denver. So she stayed home for nothing.

But I had a great runner-up in the wings. My friend Lynne also performed the Messiah when she was younger, and loves it like I love it. We took Lyft to the church. The downtown church provided for a bit of a different experience. Like the homeless man sitting in the front of the church wearing a Santa Claus hat and quietly directing the orchestra and vocalists. Bless his heart.

Over the years, I’ve learned to appreciate not only the music, but the message as well. I am unable to listen to the concluding chorus, Worthy is the Lamb, without crying, partly from its sheer beauty, but mostly from the message that Jesus is the Messiah and died to save us all, an undeniably worthy savior.

It put me in the Christmas spirit, and reminded me of why we celebrate Christ’s birth.

It seems like Hallmark Christmas movies have been around since Clement Clarke Moore wrote The Night Before Christmas. In the same way that Clement Clarke Moore’s poem gave us an idea of what St. Nick looked like, the Hallmark movies show us what Christmas decorations should look like. If you’ve got a lot of money and a lot of time, that is, because as you all know, there is no skimping on decorations in Christmas in (Fill in the Blank).

In fact, the first Hallmark Christmas movie appeared in the year 2000, perhaps to celebrate the fact that the world didn’t explode at midnight on January 1, when the 20th Century became the 21st Century. However, it wasn’t until 2009 that Hallmark realized that they could make a lot of money bring people a lot of joy by airing All Christmas Movies All The Time, beginning just as you’re putting away Junior’s Halloween costume.

I think early on, binge-watching Hallmark Christmas movies was kept secret, much like telling your doctor that you only drink alcohol occasionally. At some point, and for reasons I can’t explain, it became de rigueur to admit that you watch Hallmark movies. The Hallmark addiction comes from unexpected quarters. For example, our Vermont family members proudly admit to being Hallmark movie watchers. They are both serious, professional women, who not only admit they watch Hallmark movies but will likely never speak to me again since I’ve spilled their secret to my tens of readers.

I know many other people who enjoy watching Christmas movies. I am choosing, however, to share no more names because I have to have a few people left who like me and will speak to me. It is, as it happens, almost Christmas. Perhaps the most surprising admission was from my sister Bec’s pastor, who used a Hallmark movie as his reference in a recent homily. Go Hallmark. You’ve apparently received the blessing of the American Catholic Church!

I am not loathe to admit that I enjoy a good Christmas movie. I haven’t turned on Hallmark this year for two reasons: 1) it would require that I go on my guide and try to find the station number for Hallmark; and 2) I don’t like commercials, and it would stress me out to have Hallmark movies recording ad nauseum. Christmas is stressful enough as it is. That’s why we watch the Christmas movies.

I do, however, watch all varieties of Christmas movies on Netflix, Amazon Prime, and Hulu. I’ve only turned off one of the many movies I have watched. I seriously can’t remember the name of the movie, but the overwrought woman coming from the big city meets her man early in the movie. She is surprised that he is her tow truck driver, her mother’s electrician, the elementary school’s maintenance man, the volunteer fireman, etc. etc. It was when he finally showed up to fight the fire that I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter (with me for watching such a stupid movie), and turned it off.

On the other hand, my favorite thus far has been Christmas in the Bayou, which not only had pretty scenery and a not bad storyline, but Ed Asner as the Santa figure. It doesn’t get much better than Ed Asner. I also admit to enjoying a Hercule Poirot Christmas movie called The Theft of the Royal Ruby. My love for British television was confirmed with a line from this movie in which an aristocratic woman asks Poirot, “It’s this tree I’m worried about. Is it vulgar enough yet do you suppose?”

You simply can’t outdo the Brits.