I don’t believe that God punishes us by making bad things happen. I do, however, suspect that he tests challenges us from time to time, not to prove our love for him but to remind us that we are strong and intelligent. We can figure it all out if we use our heads and are kind and thoughtful.

This past year has been challenging for sure. It’s not up for debate that lots has been thrown at us. Not just Americans, but (as my granddaughter Mylee would say) THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD. In addition to the obvious challenge, that being COVID-19, we have had hurricanes and tornadoes and social challenges and political strife. That’s just to name a few.

The crabbiness that I often read on Next Door notwithstanding, for the most part, I think we all have handled it pretty darn well. Oh, there are always going to be a few bad apples in the bushel basket, and there are always going to be times when the challenges get to us, but most of us are doing things we wouldn’t have imagined we would be doing a mere 10 months ago. Almost without exception, people in Colorado are dutifully wearing their masks. I see many people putting the ubiquitous hand sanitizer on their hands before and after entering buildings. Businesses are mostly doing what they’re supposed to do, despite the inconvenience. Yesterday I got my haircut and a pedicure at two different businesses, one right after the other. Both took my temperature when I entered, and both carefully sanitized my seat before sitting me down.

As disrupted as our lives are, I don’t observe a lot of grumpy people. As folks walk past our house, if I’m outside, they almost always give me a cheerful hello. People in the grocery stores are mostly courteous and willingly help me if I’m unable to reach items on the top shelf. Even my nemesis Next Door has many stories about people trying to help find missing dogs or cats, people who have found someone’s keys or wallets, or stories about others who have helped them move their garbage cans when they’re old or infirm.

Remember how the Israelites pushed back when God presented them with all of the challenges they faced as they wandered in the desert. Even when they bitched and moaned about being hungry or thirsty or tired or feeling abandoned, God eventually sent help. Sometimes the help he provided required them to pitch in and fight for themselves. That’s what we are doing right now, and it seems to me that despite the news on television, we are doing pretty darn well.

Everyone — including me — keeps saying they’ll be glad when 2020 is ended. The truth unfortunately is that when the clock strikes midnight on January 1, 2021, things are likely to not have changed a bit. What we really must do is keep up our spirits, follow the rules, and be kind to one another.

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:

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.

When we bought our house in AZ in 2010, we got a free washing machine. It didn’t come with the house, but Jen’s son-in-law’s aunt was getting a brand new one, and she was happy to get rid of her old washer. It worked fine, and we were satisfied. However, we had no dryer.

I began looking at Craig’s List and found an ad for a dryer for sale for a mere $75 dollars. That’s all we knew about the dryer. Well, that, and the fact that the seller lived nearby. We borrowed a truck, and went to pick up the dryer. Much to our surprise, the dryer was a complete match to the washing machine. Like twin appliances from a different mother appliance. What’s the chance of that?

A couple of years ago, Jen’s daughter and son-in-law bought a new house. During the interim between closings on the house they were selling and the house they were buying, they lived in our house. During the time they were there, the washing machine stopped working. Maggie called a repairman, who came out to look at the appliance. I don’t remember what was wrong, but the man told her it would be $300 to fix. She called us for advice.

My first reaction was to buy a new machine, and that’s what I told her. “Well, yeah, I can see your point,” she said. “But the repairman said that the new washing machines are not very good in his opinion. He recommends repairing Old Reliable.” (Well, she might not have called it Old Reliable.) We did what he suggested, and are still using both the washer and the dryer 10 years later.

I have a point. And I’ll bet you’re glad I’m reaching it.

You all know how enthusiastic I was when my brand new Kitchenaid Pro 600 arrived at my home. I couldn’t wait to use it. I made a couple of failed bread items. I made a batch of biscotti. And then last week, I made an attempt at another loaf of bread.

The dough mixed up perfectly. I put it in my mixer and inserted the dough hook. I turned it on the speed Kitchenaid recommends for kneading bread. I kneaded the bread four minutes. When I checked to see if it was kneaded enough, I decided a minute more would be helpful.

Alas, the mixer wouldn’t turn on. Nothing. Nada. No motor at all. The mixer wasn’t hot. It hadn’t made sad-sounding noises as it kneaded. It didn’t stop in the middle of kneading. It just wouldn’t turn on again.

I was very sad, though my bread turned out perfectly. Apparently four minutes was just right. But my beautiful mixer was a dud. That night, hours later, as I prepared to go upstairs, I gave it one more try. Boom. It turned right on.

The next day, I called Kitchenaid. After 56 minutes on hold, I got a live person. She grilled me like I was a felon. After extensive questioning, she agreed to send me a new mixer. “Unfortunately,” she said. “That particular mixer is on back order and won’t be available for two months.”

So, my point is, (and I know I sound like I’m 95 years old) the washer repairman was right: THEY DON’T MAKE THINGS LIKE THEY USED TO.

Yesterday, I made more bread. The same thing happened, up to and including that it turned on five hours later as though it hadn’t broken my heart a few hours earlier. I will limp along with my fussy new Kitchenaid until I get the new one, because what else can I do?

I know, I know. First world problems.

For the past year or so, Bill has been suffering from pain in his back and hip. I know this will shock you, but I nagged him to see a doctor. Understandably, he thinks he sees enough doctors, and he was really reluctant to embark on another medical journey. However, his movement disorder specialists noticed his limp the last time we went, and he agreed to see a doctor.

Remember how I’ve always said I was a Glass-Half-Empty Person? Well, I was convinced that he had arthritis in his hip, and was going to need a hip replacement. In fact, Bec joked that if we were to go to the doctor in AZ who replaced her hip and replaced Jen’s knee, we might be able to get a family discount. Ha ha ha.

We visited the orthopedic surgeon this week. They took X-rays. When the doctor showed us the X-ray results, he pointed out how amazingly clean Bill’s hips were. Lots of space between bones. Dream hips, in fact.

His back, however, has arthritis. That arthritis accounts for the pain throughout his lower extremities. The good news — the news that made me smile — is that the pain can be treated through physical therapy. No surgery necessary.

That man will outlive us all!

Have a great weekend.

I used to have a sense of humor. A sense of humor runs in my family, and I used to have one. Alas, my sense of humor has gone the way of the dodo bird and eating restaurant food that isn’t delivered by GrubHub.

The other day, in fact, I was trying to get 6-year-old Cole out of a crabby spell by telling him a joke. I was stumped. I thought and thought, and the only joke I could come up with was the knock-knock joke dealing with bananas and oranges. There simply isn’t a knock-knock joke in the world funny enough to make Cole laugh when he’s mad at you. And that one sure isn’t going to do the job.

As the writer of a blog — this blog, in fact — I try to look at the world differently than others look at it. I used to be able to go to the grocery store and if I paid attention, I could almost always find something quirky, even funny, going on about which I could write. But now when I go to the grocery store, all I see are people with masks and sad-looking eyes pushing their carts around and trying not to think too hard about the price of bacon. Or the unexpected gaps where a everyday item used to be. Yesterday, for example, there were inexplicably no napkins. The only paper napkins on the shelves were the store brand which they describe as for everyday use. That may be true as long as your day doesn’t include eating. They are good for one hand wipe, and then shred like a Mission Impossible message. Oh, for the days of Vanity Fair napkins.

There’s nothing too interesting on television upon which to remark. These days, we’re desperate enough to be rewatching programs we’ve rewatched two or three other times. When you can speak the lines along with Detective Bosch, it’s time for Blue Bloods to return.

I’ve written blogs about funny driving experiences. Nowadays, there is little to nothing funny about driving. Drivers seem to always be in a hurry. They are willing to zip in and out, around and about cars on the highway in their hurry to get, well, to who knows where? There’s not that many places to go. You know how southern women gossip about someone, and end their sentence with bless her heart? That’s me these days when I’m in my car. As the BMW SUV zips around me, I say out loud something like you’d better be taking your damn wife who is labor to the hospital when you’re driving that fast you fool, and then add Bless your heart.

Having said all of the above, the reality is that things seem to be getting better every day, no-napkins-on-the-shelf notwithstanding. Tomorrow will be a better day, full of napkins and disinfectant wipes and jokes. At least some tomorrow soon.

I’ll leave you with this….

Where do you find a cow with no legs? Right where you left it.

My dog used to chase people on a bike a lot, but then I took his bike away.

My sense of humor is going to return. I just know it.

My brother and sister-in-law are visiting from AZ. Yesterday we drove (well, actually my sister-in-law Sami drove and I sat in the back seat looking at scenery and trying not to pay attention to the fact that she was driving 80 in a 55 mph zone, quite effectively by the way) to Fort Collins to have lunch at what is Dave’s favorite wing place in the whole wide world: Jim’s Wings.

Jim’s Wings, by the way, is a family favorite. After Bill’s eldest son Allen married the lovely Emma, he went on a mission to introduce her to some American favorites. Emma, you see, grew up in Paris, and, well, chicken wings weren’t exactly on her menu. Allen had offered her wing options, and she had always been disappointed. However, Jim’s Wings are his favorite. So one day when they had been near Fort Collins camping or hiking or some such thing, he took her to Jim’s Wings on the way home. Soon the wings they had ordered were delivered to their table. Allen told us, “I held my breath as she took her first bite.” Lo, and behold, she liked them. Life was complete.

Anyhoo, on our way home from lunch, we stopped to visit our stepmother Shirley, who lives in Loveland….

We had a really nice visit with her, as we always do. As we drove home, I began thinking about the definition of family.

I have mentioned before that my mom was the youngest of 13 kids. As the youngest, you can imagine that a few of her elder siblings were already married when she was born. Still, we grew up knowing our aunts and uncles. I don’t know how or why her family stayed as close as they did, but we visited often, we knew our cousins, we loved them all very much. Our mother was committed to staying close to her siblings. Our father — whose family was considerably smaller — felt the same way. Family is important.

The definition of family, of course, isn’t necessarily clear-cut. Shirley, for example, became my father’s wife after my mother passed away. It took some time, but eventually we all came to love Shirley. She is part of our family.

I have nine grandkids. Three of them have my blood flowing through them. The other six have none of my blood. I love them all. It’s true that I will look at Court’s kids to see if I can recognize something of me in them. Kaiya, for example, crosses her legs twice (over her knee and around her ankle), just as I do. And just as my mother did. But love comes from the heart, not the genes.

When Addie was just a baby, Bill brought her to my office to visit. The receptionist — who didn’t know that Addie was my stepson’s child — immediately said, “Oh my, she looks just like Kris.” I always loved that. Of course, at that time, she couldn’t have looked a bit like me beyond light hair and blue eyes. She was too little to have my mannerisms. Still, love made her my grandchild, and that’s what our receptionist imagined.

I’m happy Shirley is in our life. It reminds me that family doesn’t have to be related by blood. It only has to be related by love.

Because I spent my weekend having fun with my visiting brother and sister-in-law, today’s post is a re-post. It originally ran on October 18, 2016. It makes reference to our leaving for AZ, but we are definitely NOT leaving for AZ any time soon. COVID-19, donchaknow!