Category Archives: Whimsies

Hot Diggity Dog

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It may not be true now in 2020, but back in 2008 when Bill and I traveled in Europe — and particularly when we lived in Certaldo, Italy for that month — we noticed that Italians didn’t go to the grocery store once a week and buy their groceries. Instead, they would grab their grocery carts (I called them nonny carts because it seemed most commonly the grandmothers — nonnas — who did the grocery shopping) and make their way each day to do their marketing. Often, rather than go to one market, they would go to the carniceria for their meat, the panaceria for their bread, the mercati for fruits and vegetables. Even if they shopped at the regular market, there wasn’t much meat wrapped up in plastic and sitting in the refrigerated case. I have a vivid memory of going to the carniceria and watching the butcher cut off two giant steaks for us with a meat cleaver — KA-THUNK, KA-THUNK!

Here in the United States, I bet it is typical to shop weekly, and most often our meat is found wrapped in cellophane and sitting in the meat department in cases nestled amidst all of the rest of the meat. Don’t get me wrong. That’s the most efficient way to shop, and it’s how I generally buy my meat.

I was excited, however, when my niece told me that a butcher shop had opened up in a shopping center only about 10 minutes from our AZ house. Sometimes the taste of freshly cut meat from an experienced butcher is worth the price difference. I was excited to visit the shop, and Jen was looking forward to getting out of the house where she had stared at its walls for far too long following her surgery.

Chuck’s Fresh Meats actually opened up in September, right next to Dunkin Donuts. I’m not sure how good a partnership these two businesses make, except that people like donuts and people like meat. They might scratch each others’ backs.

The meat-filled cases reminded me of shopping in Italy. But it also brought back memories of riding my bicycle with a friend as a child in Columbus, and stopping for a break for a pop and a hot dog at the butcher shop on 6th Street, maybe two miles from our house. And understand this: the hot dog wasn’t cooked and placed in a bun. Nope. It was one of a string of cold hot dogs cut off the string by the butcher  that I happily ate wrapped in a napkin as I rode off on my bike. I will tell you this: I could easily do that today (maybe not the riding-my-bike part, but certainly the eating-a-cold-freshly-smoked-hot-dog part).

My sister and I spent some hard-earned dollars on rib eye steaks, ground beef, and chicken thighs and breasts which we will cook this week…..

Judging from the steak we ate the other night, it will be a dining delight. Even better than the hot dog.

Let It Kind of Snow

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A number of years ago, Bec brought her grands to Colorado during one of their school spring breaks. Both of the kids were lifelong Arizonans. They had never seen snow.

Don’t get me wrong. Arizona gets snow. Up in the area around Flagstaff, it snows. In fact, there is actually a ski area outside of Flag. Or should I say a “ski area” because, at the risk of sounding like a snob, no Coloradan with any sense would consider it much of a mountain. Even beautiful Superstition Mountain a mere 15 miles east of our AZ home will occasionally get a dusting of snow…..

This photo was taken the winter of 2018. I love the contrast between the snow and the cactus.

But those two had never touched snow. And as we drove into Estes Park and then up Trail Ridge Pass, they were getting more and more excited. As we made our way up the narrow road, we passed areas of snow.

“Stop Nana! Stop!” they hollered from the back seat. “There’s snow!”

“Have you seen how narrow this road is?” she asked them. “Do you see how far down we could fall? We can’t pull the car over here. I promise there will be snow at the top of the pass.”

And of course there was. And the two of them happily played in the snow like it was Christmas Day.

As for me, while I was excited for the kids, I could live forever without snow. Even though I will admit it’s pretty as it falls, the fact that it needs to be shoveled and you have to dress in 17 layers of clothing while you shovel and then you will STILL freeze your tush, dampens — no, destroys — any warm and fuzzy feelings I might have. There’s not enough hot chocolate in the world to make me change my mind.

There are probably a lot of kids in the Phoenix metro area who, like Kenzie and Carter, haven’t touched snow. But to address this reality, the neighborhood in which Jen’s daughter Maggie and her family reside brings in snow. Yes, you read that right. The neighborhood association sets up a mountain of snow in the neighborhood’s green belt one weekend a year.

It’s probably not real snow, of course. It takes some sort of weather phenomenon to create snow (and of course the hand of God), but whatever this is — ground up ice crystals perhaps — it looks like snow and it sleds like snow and it makes Arizona kids happy like snow…..

It made my heart happy to see and hear the kids having so much fun on the tubes and sleds they purchased at the nearby Big 5 or Ace Hardware just for that day.

And I must admit that hearing the sounds of kids playing at the pool at the same time also made me smile. You’ve got to love the ingenuity of mankind.

Saturday Smile: A Winter Day in the Desert

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It’s been an interesting week. Jen had outpatient knee replacement surgery on Monday, and is recovering splendidly. But we have had to get used to seeing her rely on a walker to motate. She has had two visits from physical therapists who are challenging her to move it, move it, move it.

So, as Friday afternoon finally arrived, we enjoyed sitting outside, enjoying the warm weather and the beautiful sunset on the patio, glad that the week was behind us. AZ has some of the most beautiful sunsets God gave us, as shown by this photo taken by Jen’s 9-year-old grandson Austin…..


Have a great weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Big Sky

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Way back in 2007, I first met Jackson Brodie in Case Histories, by Kate Atkinson. Formerly a police officer, Jackson was a private detective living in Edinburgh, trying to make a living working with insurance companies and helping people find missing animals. Brodie is a complex man who hasn’t had an easy life. He is divorced and struggles with a troubled past life.

Over the next few years, the author offered a three more Jackson Brodie novels, all of which I enjoyed very much. And then the books stopped coming. I missed the somewhat introspective and morose detective.

Finally, over 10 years later, Atkinson offered a new Jackson Brodie novel, Big Sky. It was worth the wait. Lots has changed for Brodie, but lots has stayed the same.

The detective has retired and moved to a small village near the sea. He spends most of his time with his teenaged son and a very old lab. He is separated from Julia, whom he met and with whom he fell in love in the first novel. They are still friendly, however. She is the mother of the teenager Nathan. Brodie was hired for a boring case involving a cheating spouse. From this seemingly boring case, he becomes involved in a sex trafficking scheme. Like her other books, Brodie meets people along the way who somehow end up being involved in the case, tying everything together.

The wait for an update on Jackson Brodie was worth it. The books offer some dark comedy and some low-key drama, but mostly some interesting perspectives on people and life from Brodie’s perspective.

The ending seemed a bit rushed and confusing. The stories were all wrapped up, but somewhat haphazardly. Still, it was a great read, and a pleasant reconnection with one of my favorite detectives.

By the way, Case Histories became a PBS series, and a very good one. If you can find it, watch it.

Here is a link to the book.

Thursday Thoughts

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On the Mend
Jen is slowly, but surely, getting around the house. She had her first physical therapy session yesterday morning. The physical therapist came to the house to offer his special brand of torture. The therapist also shared the cheerful news that Friday and/or Saturday would be her toughest day, pain-wise. Yay. Something to look forward to.

Showers Bringing Flowers
Day before yesterday was a very unusual day in the Valley of the Sun, er, Rain. It drizzled on and off (mostly on) all day long. The skies were gray and the sound of the rain on the roof filled our ears. We didn’t care because we hadn’t a single place to go. Still, I find the gray skies more depressing here than I do in Denver for some reason. I think because it’s SUPPOSED to be sunny in the desert.

Lemon Tree, Very Pretty
Our very active neighbors spent their rainy day baking, and we were the beneficiaries. It’s lemon season here in AZ, and so she delivered some homemade lemon poppy seed bread. Nothing relieves the pain of surgery like the tart, yet sugary sweetness of homemade lemon loaf…..

At the Movies
It’s the time of the year when Bill — because he is a member of the Screen Actors’ Guild — screens many of the movies that have been deemed award-worthy. We haven’t had a chance to watch many yet. Harriet — about former slave and abolitionist Harriet Tubman — was good, if sloooow. Still, what an amazing story. The other movie we watched was The Joker. It’s impossible for me to tell you just how much I disliked that movie. It was dark and immensely disturbing. Just what Hollywood loves. It will win ALL the awards.

Ciao.

 

 

Boo!

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There are two kinds of people in the world, them that like scary movies and them that don’t. I’m a them that don’t.

I’ve never seen Halloween for example. Any scary movie lover worth their weight has seen Halloween. Halloween is the movie by which they compare all other scary movies, at least of the slasher variety. Never saw it. In fact, I never saw any of the movies where teenagers are being chased by men wearing masks and waving around chainsaws.

Somehow I didn’t pass along the scary movie dislike gene to my son Court. He likes scary movies. He’s seen every movie involving Freddy Krueger, some more than once. He’s seen Halloween 1 through 11. To him, a chainsaw is a murder weapon and not a building tool or something used to cut down a Christmas tree.

Here are the scary movies I’ve seen, or at least that I remember seeing: Play Misty for Me, House on Haunted Hill, Wait Until Dark, Misery, Psycho, Silence of the Lambs, The Shining, The Sixth Sense, Jaws, The Exorcist, and The Birds. Out of those I just listed, the two I would never see again are Wait Until Dark and The Exorcist. I saw both as a teenager. The Exorcist was terrifying, and scared the living hell out of me because DEVIL. Wait Until Dark was not a true horror film since it didn’t involve any kind of supernatural being. But the idea of being unable to see because of blindness and someone trying to kill you is extraordinarily frightening to me. There is a scene in which the bad guy (Alan Arkin) jumps out at the blind woman (Audrey Hepburn) that scared the daylights out of me. I must have jumped a foot in the air. I hated being scared like that, and still do.

My granddaughter Kaiya has inherited her father’s love for scary movies. Being only 11 years old, she is restricted from watching some of the scarier movies, though she would love to see them. She watched The Sixth Sense (a movie that scared the crap out of me) with her dad one day when her mother and Mylee were on a Girl Scout camping trip. Did it scare you, I asked her. Nope, she insisted, not that she would tell me if it had…..

This photo was taken the night Bill and I took her on a ghost tour, something that didn’t scare her a bit.

My 7-year-old grandson Micah also likes scary movies, or at least proclaims to do so. I’m not sure how many he’s seen, being only 7. While visiting there a few months ago, I was there when he was being picked up from school. He got in the car and announced that he wanted to see the movie It. Shockingly, his mom said it was a no-go. But there are no swears, he pointed out……

How could anyone as cute as this like scary movies?

I’m sure there are more horror movies that I have seen that I’m just not remembering. I’m not counting any Alfred Hitchcock movies except for Psycho, because they are more psychological thrillers than horror movies, or at least that’s what I think. I did rewatch The Birds the other day, a movie I haven’t seen for probably 40 years. I will admit that the gathering of the crows on the playground was disconcerting.

By the way, even Kaiya has her limits. “I don’t like scary movies that have dolls,” she told me.

Neither do I. Or devils.

A New Joint

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Don’t you love when you write a blog and you tell a Big Fat Lie to your faithful readers? I will tell you the truth right now. Yesterday’s blog post in which I bragged about how I didn’t feel death staring me in the face was untrue. Oh, it was my truth at the time I wrote the words, but I will admit that yesterday, I felt just like those two men, like I was in the bottom of the ninth.

I’m exaggerating, of course. It’s actually my sister Jen who should be grumbling, but she doesn’t write a blog, so she doesn’t have a pedestal from which to gripe. Besides, she feels too lousy to complain. Though my body felt sore and tired, it is her that had her a tube put down her throat, yucky anesthesia pumped into her body, her leg cut open, and a knee replaced. Watching her in the hours following the surgery reminded me of how vulnerable we really are.

My mom was only 68 years old when she died, so it’s almost impossible to know what her aging process would have been. But my dad was 84 when he died. He worked hard most of his life, and then took really good care of my mom in the years when she was slowly dying. After Mom’s death, Dad enjoyed his life with Shirley before going to heaven in 2010. But despite having arthritis for many years, he never had a joint replaced. Conversely, Bec’s had two hips replaced and Jen has a new knee. I’ve lucked out in the joint department, but I’m likely not far behind them. And my brother Dave could be next.

What occurs to me is that while our bodies clearly wear out from use as indicated by the inordinate number of folks on the orthopedic wards of hospitals, we Baby Boomers just keep chugging right along. Thanks to modern science, we can become bionic men and women. It’s why our Medicare and Social Security systems are going bankrupt. Boomers are just hanging in there, enjoying the ride, thank you very much.

And even joint replacement surgeries have come a long way. As recently as a couple of years ago, Bec was in the hospital for her surgery, spending one night before they kicked her to the curb. While it’s true that most knee and hip replacements are still done in the hospital, Jen was offered the opportunity to have her surgery done outpatient in a so-called surgery center.

What this meant is that she didn’t have to stay overnight in a hospital, where the cheerful nurses wake you three times a night to ask if you’re having trouble sleeping and what, by the way, is your pain level. I can offer that service for no charge.

What’s next, we all wondered. In a couple of years, they will hand you a scalpel and provide a training video to watch before you do your own surgery.

Jen, by the way, is doing quite well. She spent yesterday afternoon and evening mostly sleeping, although her daughter Maggie, playing the role of Nurse Cratchett, woke her up every hour to make her march around the house. Recognizing that Maggie is not only the mother of two, she also was a kindergarten teacher in her younger days, Jen knows she’s not one to be messed with.

As for me, despite my whining, I felt fine after a good night’s sleep.

It’s All Good

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I was at the gym a few mornings ago. I never pay attention to who is around me. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help but hear the man with a booming voice on the treadmill next to me greet another man who had taken residence on the treadmill next to him.

”Hey John,” he said. “I haven’t seen you for a long time. How are you doing?”

”Good,” replied John. “Really good. How about you Frank? Are you good?”

”Good. Really good,” said Frank.

”Good, good,” said John. “That’s good to hear.”

About this time, my head was ready to explode. I remembered my recent vow to model kindness, however, and took a deep breath. That was good, huh?

They continued talking.

”Well,” said Frank, “You and me, we’re about done, aren’t we?”

Thinking he was talking about being nearly done on the treadmill, I said a silent thank goodness. Not saying it out loud allowed me to convince myself that I was still modeling kindness. However, as I used to tell my sister Jen when we were kids: Mom knows and God knows.

John answered him, “Yessir, it’s about over. I guess we’re in the bottom of the ninth inning about now.”

Frank said, “Yep, I told my daughter the other day that she doesn’t have to live forever, but she can’t die before me.”

”I guess that won’t happen,” said John, apparently always one to support a friend. “I’m sure you’ll die first. It won’t be long now.”

By the way, if you think I’m making up this conversation, you would be wrong. Hand to God.

At this point, I finally looked over to see who was having this macabre conversation. I expected to see two old, decrepit men on oxygen tanks and walkers. What I saw instead were two handsome men maybe in their late 70s who didn’t look at all like they were on their last legs. They were at the gym for heaven’s sake.

There is no person who is more glass-half-empty than me, but I don’t think I’m going to die soon. I recognize that I am not staring 80 in the face, but I don’t think Bill is going to die soon either, and he is dangerously close.

Listening to them reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend 20 years ago. We were shopping together and she made a comment about the two of us being middle-aged.

What? What? I nearly screamed, “I AM NOT MIDDLE AGED.”

“Really?” she said. “Do you think you’re going to live past 85? Because the only way you’re not middle aged is if you are going to live to, say 100.”

Well, I’m not likely to live to be 100, but there was no way I was going to admit to being middle aged at 45 years old. I’m firm on that.

Age doesn’t mean a thing. Well, at least it doesn’t mean EVERYTHING. I hope when I am in my 70s, I still feel like I have a quite a few more years to live, even if I don’t.

And as far as I’m concerned, that’s good.

Saturday Smile: And the Winner Is…..

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Once a quarter, two kids from third grade at Las Sendas Elementary School in Mesa are selected as Outstanding Students of the Quarter. The winners get the opportunity to get up on the stage with a certificate and smile while their moms and dads shoot photos to send to Grandma and Grandpa. It’s a big deal.

And this quarter, one of the outstanding students was none other than my great-nephew Austin. He was proud to receive the award with my sister — his Grammie —was watching……

Austin is second from left

On the other side of town, Austin’s cousin Carter (my sister Bec’s grandson) was mightily winning his Running Club’s foot race. He ran the one-and-a-half miles in just over 8 minutes, leaving the second runner up in the dust. Running like the wind…..

Have a great weekend.

Thursday Thoughts

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We Are Finally Getting a Knee
Jen found out today that her surgery is scheduled for 7 a.m. on Monday. She will indeed have it at a surgical center as an outpatient. That means she will not be spending the night of surgery in the hospital. As a frequent hospital visitor myself, I have assured her that you really never see the nurses during the night anyway, except for the once or twice that they come by to wake you up to take your blood pressure, and generally annoy you. As her sister, I am happy to annoy her that night if it gives her any comfort.

Welcome to The Home
We are getting older, but not necessarily getting any better. Our tiny Arizona house is starting to fill up with medical accoutrements that she will need following her surgery. You got your walker, you got your cane, you got your grabber, you got your toilet accessories. Sigh……

It Feels 10 Lbs. Lighter
Jen and I spent yesterday going through the house and ruthlessly collecting things to take to Goodwill. We are spoiled by our Colorado houses that have basements and plenty-o-storage. When you have a small home with no basement and very limited storage capacity, you have to put your foot down on having too much stuff. We filled up the trunk and the back seat for Trip Number One to Goodwill. One man’s junk is another man’s treasure…..

Baby, It’s Cold Outside
Our Arizona neighbors arrived this week, and we were happy to see them. They live in Alberta, Canada. The day they left, it was -27 degrees C. It doesn’t sound much better in Fahrenheit, as that translates to -16 degrees F. I think it’s safe to say they have enjoyed the past couple of 70 degree days. The first thing they did was take pictures of their yard to show their Canadian friends what they’re missing. And they say Canadians are nice….

Ciao.