As we sat and ate breakfast one morning in Vermont, Addie informed me that she is part of Generation Z. I had never heard of Generation Z. I don’t know exactly why we went from Generation X straight to Generation Z, leaving “Y” to wonder why. (Did you see how I did that?) I guess the Millennials were so busy polishing their Participant trophies that they didn’t notice their generation didn’t garner a letter.

I asked Addie to explain the nuts and bolts of Generation Z.

“We want to make the world a better place,” she explained.

Wow, I thought. I wish we would have thought about that during the 60s and 70s. Guess we were too busy trying to get the world back to normal following World War II and/or trying to win a winless war in southeast Asia to think about anything like women’s rights or civil rights. Sorry Martin Luther King and Gloria Steinem.

When I got back to Denver, I looked up Generation Z for myself. What I learned was that every one of my grandkids is a member of this generation. Ages range from 6 to 24. Our youngest grandchild is 7. I will admit that I don’t think Cole is thinking much about making the world a better place. He is too busy worrying about whether the number of his toys is greater or fewer than that of his sisters’. On the other hand, I think our older grands certainly are concerned about the world. I also think they probably blame its faults on Baby Boomers. Sigh.

To me, one of the most significant characteristics of Generation Z is that they are the first generation to have not spent a single day without the internet or portable technology (i.e. cell phones and tablets). The idea of calling up a research librarian is a concept they can only remotely understand. Perhaps even a the idea of a library is foreign to them. They are used to instant information.

Teenage pregnancies are lower for Zoomers. (Boomers and Zoomers. It sounds like a college fight song. I’m looking at you OU) They drink less alcohol but use more illegal drugs. They care more about school and finding jobs than did their Millennial counterparts. Perhaps the fact that letter grades became outdated because they were hurtful to little Millennials Ethan and Ashley contributed to Zoomers’ increased focus on grades. Zoomers might have noticed that their older Millennial brothers and sisters were living at home after college.

I guess every generation thinks theirs is the one that will change the world. Our children learn from their parents’ and grandparents’ mistakes. I just hope that they don’t think that we didn’t care about what was happening around us. Getting older kind of sucks, but I won’t complain about getting wiser. While the world created by Boomers certainly has its flaws, Generation Z will soon learn that changing an entire world made up of all manner of people and ideas is not as easy as we would like.

Still, good on them that they want to change the world. I just hope that they want to leave the good things in place.

I came across a very important news article the other day. Since you might not have seen the news, Nana’s Whimsies will be the first to tell you. While we hear about the greed and selfishness of Big Corporation America, one company is putting its customers first.

Forget about curing COVID. Forget about disappearing glaciers. Forget about starving children. Heinz Corporation is about to tackle one of the most serious issues of the day: Why are there 10 hot dogs to a package but only eight buns to a package of hotdog buns. The crisis comes, of course, when there are two leftover hot diggities after the buns have all been used. Unless you have a couple of people who are gluten-free and would prefer to eschew the bun, you will need to buy another complete package of buns, leaving you with six additional buns. And then you will have four leftover hot dogs once the buns are gone. And so on. And so on. And so on, into hot dog infinity and beyond.

It’s called the Big Hot Dog Crisis. Well, at least that’s what I’m calling it.

I am not embarrassed to tell you that I am a big fan of the hot dog. In fact, one of my favorite lunches is the Costco special in which you get a foot-long dog and a Diet Coke for a buck fifty. Or at least it used to be a buck fifty. Hot dog prices may have risen along with everything else. I like mine with ketchup, mustard, onions, pickle relish. Or maybe chili and cheese. Or perhaps a Chicago dog with the works. Any kind will do.

Back to the crisis. According to the National Hot Dog Sausage Council (and who knew that existed and why am I not a member?), the reason for having eight hot dog buns to a package is that sandwich rolls, or hot dog buns, most often come eight to the pack because the buns are baked in clusters of four in pans designed to hold eight rolls. That must be true, because if you can’t trust the Hot Dog Sausage Council, who can you trust?

In July, which is apparently National Hot Dog Month (and nobody told me that or I would have celebrated heartily), Heinz began a campaign called the Heinz Hot Dog Pact that challenges hot dog makers and hot dog bun bakers to agree on the number per package. Heinz suggests the number be 10. Of course, that has nothing to do with the fact that the company is already putting 10 dogs to a pack. As a result, baking companies the world over would have to buy new pans. They might have to bring in the big dogs (get it? big dogs?) to make the decision.

By the way, there is a chance that you will have a few guests at your next hot dog gathering similar to that of my niece Jessie. One time, when she was a little girl, we were together at a barbecue. She asked me for a plain hot dog. I put a hot dog onto a bun, and handed it to her. She looked at me like I had two heads. It turns out that to Jessie, a plain hot dog meant a bun. Period. No dog. She is probably not worried at all about the inequity of the hot dog and the bun. Worse case scenario, she could dip a slice of Wonder bread in some ketchup.

Hot diggity, dog diggity, boom what they do to me!

I spent the past week pondering why Vermonters are so dang nice. I would look around as I licked the maple creemee off of my fingers while the cone dripped and saw people smiling and looking content. They don’t seem to be in a particular hurry. They don’t cut in front of you so as to save one quarter of a second on the road. They smile and wave and call each other by their first names. Even the dogs are friendly. Part of it is the aforementioned maple creemee…..

Part of it is their beautiful green surroundings……

The beautiful green fields make me feel friendly too. How can you help but be happy when there is maple sap dripping from your trees and your cows are black and white and help produce delicious Cabot horseradish cheddar cheese and Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream?

Bill and I spent the past week with our Vermont family. God blessed us with a break in the rainy weather they’ve been having this summer, offering instead sunshiny days with temperatures in the 70s. Sure, the humidity was enough to sink a small ship, but who cared when the sun was shining off of the beautiful Mad River in which our kids bravely swam. Brave, because it was extremely cold. But Vermonters (and one Coloradan, namely Addie) are of hearty stock and barely flinched as they dove in. Well, truth be told, they did flinch some, but they did indeed follow their flinching with swimming…..

To be perfectly honest, I will admit that the time we spent with our Vermont family included a lot of swimming. I, of course, can’t swim a single stroke. Still, I am very happy that every single one of our grandkids swim, and they all love it very much. As for me, I love to watch. One of our swimming adventures included an afternoon at Smugglers’ Notch Resort, 45 minutes from Montpelier. Among the plethora of activities, there was a twisty slide one went down on an inner tube. Somehow Micah and Joseph were persuasive enough to talk me into taking that daring plunge. Micah was so happy when he saw me hit the bottom that he helped me out of my tube, threw his arms around me and kissed me. ON THE MOUTH. This, from a child who is not terribly demonstrative. He simply couldn’t contain his joy and excitement that even his nana should feel the thrill.

Between swimming adventures, we made it to an apple cider mill, where we were able to taste a cup of the ice cold cider from the tap as we watched it being made. More important, we were able to purchase apple cider donuts. The sweet donuts are beyond delicious, as evidenced by the five of us consuming an entire dozen before you could say “I’ll bet even Tom Brady loves these apple donuts.”

And if I can give you one example that clearly describes the nature of Vermont and its citizens, I will talk about Thunder Road Speedbowl in Barre, VT, which refers to itself as Nation’s site of excitement. That is clearly an overstatement since, even if we limited it to only racetracks, I would choose Talladega over Thunder Road. Still, Talladega doesn’t have the state’s governor as one of its car racers.

Yes, friends, Phil Scott, governor of the wonderful state of Vermont, drives his No. 14 stock car every Thursday during the summer in Vermont. His only restriction is that he can’t have sponsors. Seems fair. Gov. Scott holds the title as the only governor in the United States to drive stock cars. Bill and I, and our Gang of Five, loved our night at the races. But we mostly loved watching Gov. Scott drive because, GOVERNOR. Unfortunately for him, he drove No. 14 into the wall in one of the early races, and never quite recovered. His car, I mean. I think he was perfectly fine, and his lieutenant governor was not spotted measuring the Governor’s Office for new drapes.

Between being cooked for by our eldest grandchild…..

…..and receiving many hugs and kisses for a week, this nana loves Vermont.

And, oh, by the way, the Vermonters might be so nice because they live so close to Canada.

In September 2019, our grandson Joseph, who was then 10, had to write a poem for school. He is an amazing kid, and he wrote an amazing poem. So amazing, in fact, that I am publishing it again…..

Our grandson Joseph is 10 years old. He wrote this poem as a school assignment.

I Am From
By Joseph McLain

I am from my favorite cat Ellie
From puddles and trees during springtime in Montpelier.

I am from an old green house and a beautiful neighborhood
I am from overgrown hostas that always seem to be looking at me.

I am from hot chocolate and chapter books
From Hibbert and McLain.

I am from big celebrations and different cultures like Polish and Scottish.
From Taco Tuesday and Pride.

I am from Great Grandma Wilma, a Cookie Monster cake
And from my great grandparent singing to me.

From my youngest, but first to die cat.
I am from those moments, the sad ones, the hard ones and the happy ones
that is why life is so amazing.

I couldn’t be prouder of this boy.

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all.

Joni Mitchell

I first posted this on August 3, 2017. I think of the comment Grammie made about the music very often, as I’m thinking the same thing about the music listened to by my grands.

When I was in my early 20s and living with my parents in Leadville, Colorado (VERY early 20s and not for very long, so don’t start snickering), I recall one morning I was watching early morning television, probably the Today Show. That was back in the day when the Today Show actually was only a couple of hours long and they really did feature some news. Barbara Walters hosted, as I recall.

Anyway, I didn’t normally sit around idly watching morning television as I did have that thing called a J-O-B. But I turned it on that morning because one of my favorite musicians/singers of the time was going to perform – Judy Collins. She had recently come out with her Judith album, and I loved her voice and the music on that particular album. I liked a lot of that kind of music in those days – James Taylor, Carole King, Jessie Colin Young, Carly Simon, Cat Stevens. Oddly, not Joni Mitchell, though Both Sides Now is one of the songs I frequently attempt to sing (particularly when I’m with my grandkids looking at clouds) and always fail. Lots of highs and lows, I’m afraid. Much like Joni Mitchell’s life. But I digress.

Anyway, on this particular morning, my grandmother was watching television with me. Grammie mostly kept her opinions to herself, but when she felt strongly about something, she didn’t hesitate to comment. Judy Collins was performing Send in the Clowns, a song I particularly liked from the album Judith. Grammie listened for a little bit. Finally, I heard her sigh heavily, and she said to me in her strongly accented Swiss dialect, “Ehhhhhh, Krisily, is dat moosik?”

At that moment, I believe Grammie felt she was getting too old for the world. I’m sure it wasn’t the first time she felt that way. Nor was it likely the last, as she lived for quite a few years past the horrific Judy Collins moment that was probably etched in her mind forever. But she was born in 1896 and lived to be in her mid-80s, so she saw a lot of things change, come, and go, and come back again. Mostly she rolled with the punches, but in her mind, Judy Collins’ singing did not constitute music.

Now, as the years go by, I can relate. Oh, I still like Judy Collins okay, though admittedly when I listened to the song again as I wrote this blog post, I did find it somewhat annoying and a bit screechy. Perhaps in 10 years I would also question whether or not it was moosik. Nowadays, I’m much more liable to listen to Zac Brown Band or Luke Bryan, and bluegrass interests me more than folk music. Or whatever you would call the music I liked back in the mid-70s.

Interestingly, both of my sisters and I have become country music fans. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have imagined listening to songs about drinking whiskey and beer and dancing in the back of a pick-up truck. But I like the songs of most of the contemporary country singers. In fact, I watched the recent CMA Music Festival on ABC, and was pleased to realize that I recognized every song and knew the words to most of them.

My brother, however, still takes a firm stand against country music. He’s only a baby of 57. It doesn’t hit until 60, so he has a few more years to listen to Top 40 hits (or whatever it is he listens to). Our children think it’s just another sign that we are steps away from assisted living.

But, while I cringe when I listen to the Top 40 hits that Maggie Faith plays while she cooks, I have – to date, anyway – refrained from asking her if this is moosik.

This blog post was originally published on August 15, 2018. I love it because it reminds me of fun times with one of my grandkids. Dagny is now almost 15, and has many friends. Between work and friends, there is little time left for Nana. I appreciate that we had times like this….

I mentioned in yesterday’s blog post that I was somewhat nervous about the prospect of making Aunt Lauren’s crescent rolls, bread-baking being something with which I struggle a bit. I was so nervous, in fact, that I stewed about it for some of the night. At one point, I had an epiphany. Jll had said that she was serving pulled pork for dinner. Why, these crescent rolls weren’t appropriate for pulled pork AT ALL.

Yesterday morning, I called Jll and said, “Why, these crescent rolls aren’t appropriate for pulled pork AT ALL!”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” she said. “I bought hamburger buns for the pulled pork. These rolls are simply because Dagny loves them so much and is so excited about baking them with you.”

She went on to tell me that if I wasn’t inclined to make the rolls, it was not a problem at all. Still, I just imagined Dagny’s big brown eyes looking at me, and her saying, “Why, Nana? Why?”…..

I am fully aware that the biggest problem I have making bread is a lack of patience. In the winter — when I am most likely to be making bread — my house is pretty chilly. As such, bread takes a very long time to rise. And if my recipe says let it rise until it’s doubled in bulk (about one hour), there I am in one hour frantically concerned that it hasn’t doubled in bulk. I am even liable to push ahead, ending up inevitably with a door stop, calling it a fail. In fact, if I could just talk myself into waiting until it is actually doubled in bulk, I would be fine.

A chilly house was not a problem yesterday as Dagny and I began our roll-making process. She proclaimed that she had watched her Aunt Lauren make these rolls many times, and she knew exactly what to do. And she was quite right.

My brother-the-baker tells me that when yeast won’t ferment, it is much more likely to be from water that’s too hot for the yeast than too cold. I always use a thermometer to make sure my water is in the neighborhood of 110 degrees, something that my brother would find amusing.

We mixed the yeast and the water and the eggs and the flour, and Dagny took over. “It’s just like mixing slime!” she proclaimed with delight…..

A bit different, I told her. I showed her how I learned to knead the  bread.

Once the bread was fully mixed, we put it in a bowl, and headed off to our next adventure: buying school clothes at Old Navy.

And can I tell you that I don’t know when I’ve had more fun. Despite having all of these granddaughters, I have never — not once — shopped for clothes with any of them. Dagny is 12, and has her own very defined taste in clothes. Comfort is her primary requirement. My kind of girl.

When we returned, some hour-and-a-half later, the bread was doubled in bulk and ready to be rolled. This was the point at which Dagny took control. She divieded the dough in half and rolled one half into a circle. Modeling her Aunt Lauren, she then cut the dough into triangles, and rolled the triangles into perfect crescent shapes…..

She then did the same with the other half. Once they were baked and cool enough to pick up without burning her fingers, she popped one in her mouth. “They taste just like Aunt Lauren’s!”…..

Yay. And phew.

This post was originally published on September 20, 2020. Not much has changed since then!

There is what is perhaps an urban myth that patrol officers write more traffic tickets at the beginning of the month and at the end of the month. The reasoning behind these beliefs is that in the case of the beginning of the month, cops want to get their “quota” met early; at the end of the month, they are playing catch-up so as to meet the “quota.” Police departments, of course, deny there are any quotas. I don’t know and frankly, I don’t care. I try not to speed for the most part.

But speaking of quotas, I wondered if another profession was trying to meet their month-end quota yesterday. I was sitting in the lobby while Bill was at his first physical therapy appointment. My phone dinged, indicating I had gotten a email message. Being quite bored, and afraid to pick up one of the PT’s magazines, I decided to check my messages. I admit that I looked longingly at the magazines because the Us Weekly featured a story about Ellen Degeneres who seems so nice but indications are that she might be more like the Wicked Witch of the West than the Good Witch of the North. Nothing is certain in 2020. Doctors’ offices and apparently physical therapy offices are the only places where I can catch up on the REAL news, like Ellen’s bad temper and photos of Nicki Minaj at nine months pregnant and nearly naked. But I stayed strong, knowing those magazines were covered in COVID germs.

Most of my emails were from Crate & Barrel (who are my best friends since I bought my defective Kitchenaid mixer from them) and my friends at Next Door who are all up in arms about nighttime car racing. But one of them was a really friendly email:How are you? i need a favor from you.I need to get a PlayStation Gift Card for my nephew, it’s his birthday today and I totally forgot i can’t do this now because I’m currently on a short trip. Can you help grab one from any store around you? i’ll pay you as soon as i am back.kindly let me know if you can handle this.

It was signed by a man who’s name I will withhold. I thought it was so nice of him to ask how I was, since no one at either Crate & Barrel or Next Door seem to care. His lack of interest in capitalizing the letter “I” was somewhat disconcerting since his name was not e.e. cummings.

The biggest problem with the email was that it was a name totally unfamiliar to me. Knowing full well that this was a scam, and being crabby because I couldn’t read about Ellen, I came THIS CLOSE to responding with something along the lines of you can take your nephew’s gift card and shove it where the sun don’t shine. I really was very close.

And then I stopped myself because: a. That would be very mean; and b. I assume if I had responded, I would be put on some scary phishing list or my cell phone would blow up. It took great restraint.

But it wasn’t a half hour later that I got a text from my sister Bec, who said I just got a message saying if I don’t call and verify my Social Security number, they’re going to issue an arrest warrant and put me behind bars. So if you don’t hear from me…..

So that’s the reason I’m wondering if the Social Networking Bad Guys are also trying to meet a month-end quota, just like the cops. If their quota involves a “there’s a sucker born every minute” response, Bec and I were no help yesterday.

The past week has been filled with lots of Olympic excitement. Many medals, including some gold. I loved seeing Lydia Jacoby take the gold for the 100m breast stroke, a swimming stroke that looks so awkward to me that I think you should get a medal just for making across the pool. Seeing the surprise on the teenager’s face when she realized she had won, and seeing the joy of the people watching from her hometown in Alaska, made me smile.

I have watched a number of medal ceremonies this week, and they all made me proud. Though I didn’t see a single athlete cry, I promise you (and them) that I cried at every single ceremony. Hearing the national anthem played so beautifully, and seeing the proud athlete standing tall with their hand over their hearts, makes my heart full of joy.

Have a great weekend.